


vicodin on sunday nights

by lykak



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Football, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Crack, Diners, Disaster Gays, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gen, Homophobia, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Lance (Voltron), Slow Burn, Slurs, lowkey highkey crack, no beta we die like men, tags will update as we move along, the behavior he exhibited was gay. the bisexual jumped out, they're idiots jan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-06-13 20:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 82,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15373128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lykak/pseuds/lykak
Summary: Lance was having a perfectly good day. Everything was great. He was happy, healthy, and convinced that today was just another win in the vault. He had expected to win, go home with his mom and nephew, and eat pizza. He hasn’t expected all of this to go down.And he certainly didn’t expect this.PIDGEON| lance, my dudePIDGEON| keith is gay.Lance read the message. Then he read it again. Then a third time. It takes a whole minute for him to read it over fifteen times, and another to process it.Then he short-circuits.What the fuck.-Lance McClain starts off the school year fine. He had the perfect plan: to bring his team to championships, get straight As, and to get through the year. What he hadn’t expected was for Keith Kogane to plummet into his life, ruin his plans, and makes Lance question everything he’s ever wanted in life.





	1. this could be worth the risk

**Author's Note:**

> me: voltron is queerbaiting us. they're never going to have lgbt representation and they're using their gay fans for views-
> 
> vld: shiro is canonically gay and has a cute fiance named adam lol.
> 
>  
> 
> i'm just gonna say it. my hope for klance is dwindling rapidly.
> 
> i've been in the vld fandom for two whole years now, ever since the first season. i remember first watching it and being like 'wow they might actually have these two fuckers actually get together that's so cool'. i had faith, considering that it heavily paralleled tlok. but over the seasons i grew more and more tired of vld, nit-picking every single klance moment, and s6 left us with virtually nothing. 
> 
> i'm tired of being queer-baited in fandoms. that's why i was so happy when shiro was announced mlm. until i realized, what if that's the extent of their lgbt representation. that the only thing they're going to show us is that shiro had a fiance, they broke up, roll credits. ppl r gonna say 'its better than no representation at all!!' but there's a difference between truly believing and integrating lgbt representation in your show and just throwing it in there to cater.
> 
> i also didn't gain anything from being in the fandom. i didnt gain any new friends, or notes. i only gained a headache.
> 
> idk. this might be my last sacrifice to the klance cult.
> 
> but anyways, i haven't read or written anything klance in over a year! this fic is heavily inspired by a true story that happened at my school, as well as the interactions. i wanted to write something that people could actually relate to, because although these modern klance aus are cute and everything they didn't seem realistic. not saying this is realistic in anyway but the way people approach lgbt issues is. also, this is inspired by THE klance™ song of the century, Give Me A Try by The Wombats. because i’m a slut for song fics.
> 
> in fact, you can listen to a whole playlist dedicated to this entire story on Spotify that updates regularly.
> 
> also the iconic dirty laundry fic. shoutout to u girl.
> 
> important note: there are homophobic slurs used in this chapter, about 4 times, so read at your own discretion.
> 
> this fic is basically a vent fic, so that's why its the way it is oops. the first chapter was originally going to be only 10,000 words but a bitch gets carried away sometimes oops. lightly edited, there are some mistakes.
> 
> enjoy reading!

Sometimes, life is really unfair. Lance knows this well.

 

It can beat you down, spit in your face, tear your goals and aspirations to shreds in any split second. Any slip-up or rash decision could permanently affect your life in a multitude of ways. It plays dirty, but most importantly, it _plays_. Life doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process. It doesn’t care about your backstory, rich or poor. Life is cruel and ruthless. It discriminates. All you could do was suck it up and welcome repercussions. He knew this well.

 

He knew how to pick himself up. Lance was capable of taking care of himself.

 

And sometimes, life can be so fucking unfair in its complete opposite. Sometimes, life comes at you in the form of an angel, a guardian. Life plays favorites. To any lucky, blessed soul, it is motherly. Life is warm and loving and a complete bitch to her other children. And boy, does Lance know this very, _very_ well.

 

So what can Lance do? Take opportunities the moment they present themselves, and excel. Because in life, no one’s going to guide you and help you take baby steps to every impending obstacle you come across.

 

Life can be a bitch sometimes, and you just have to deal with it. If you can’t, well, it sucks to suck.

 

Lance had been a devoted follower to this philosophy like it was religion. Maybe even more so than his own. Flunked his literature test? Well, that’s terrible and now he has a B- in that class. All he could do was grab the next extra credit opportunity and get perfect marks on the next one. Blew all his money at the fair trying to impress a girl who ended up leaving with another guy? That’s rough buddy, all he could do is make sure to avoid anyone in her friend circle and work extra hours to get it back. Forgot his little cousin’s birthday present in his older sister’s car, who was out of town? That’s on him, and now he has to buy another thing to make it up. Ate shit on the soccer field? Laugh it off and make sure your ankle isn’t twisted in an inhuman way.

 

But _this_? Fuck, this really pissed him off. In retrospect, Lance should have just dealt with it. He should have just walked it off.

 

Instead, all he could see was fiery-red, because seriously, life was really fucking unfair if it was going to do this to him. He’s never really felt so angry, so _indignant_ at someone else’s fortune, seeing that they were the literal human personification of what life was to him. A bitch. He’s never felt this pissed off at a person before, and he’s met a _lot_ of people in his lifetime.

 

Because in the center of his red, clouded anger, was Keith fucking Kogane.

 

Lance was having a pretty dandy fucking day, too.

 

It was the first day of junior year. His phone alarm went off at around 5:30. Groaning, he turned it off almost immediately, and decided it would be a good idea to stay in bed for an extra five minutes. Turning his body so he could stare up at the popcorn ceiling, he could feel the anxiety and excitement of what junior year was going to bring.

 

God, it was so weird thinking about it. He was going to be a junior. It felt like just yesterday he was an awkward, scrawny, pimple-faced little freshman walking into high school for the first time.

 

He shuddered involuntarily. Glad he learned about the ten step Korean skin care routine.

 

Lance rubbed his eyes that were having a hard time opening themselves, and picked up his phone, which blasted his face with full brightness, because what other way for Lance to wake up? He swore that even at lowest capacity, phones will always be too bright at night. Turning to his side, his eyes glossed over to a figure snoring quietly in the air mattress next to his bed. Getting up silently, he tiptoed quietly out of the room to make sure his younger nephew didn’t wake up.

 

Lance headed straight for the kitchen, stomach already rumbling. The light flickered for a good five seconds before fully turning on, he noticed in annoyance. He should really get that fixed soon.

 

His family’s kitchen was a sight, to say the least. The marble countertops were littered with unfinished family sized bags of potato chips and popcorn packages. The sink was filled with unwashed dishes that varied in colors. Next to the sink was a black fridge that held a calendar with reminders and a bunch of magnets that held a diversity of states that they’ve travelled to, as well as report cards and family pictures over the years. In the middle of the small kitchen was a round wooden table that was surrounded by five chairs that matched. Scattered on the table were a bunch of unopened mail and, unsurprisingly, a dirty, discarded bowl of cereal.

 

It had his nephew written all over it. Figures.

 

Opening the pantry, he smiled slightly when he saw that all of the cereal, both Coco Puffs and Lucky Charms, were ripped open. His mom was always pissed off when his siblings and him used to open more than one cereal box. Knowing that it was the work of his little cousins, he grabbed the Lucky Charms.

 

Pouring milk and cereal into a bowl, he scrolled through his Twitter feed absentmindedly. The were the usual back to school tweets, with students tweeting about how much they dreaded school’s arrival. Others consisted of teenage girls talking about how much they missed their friends. Most tweets on his timeline were just retweets that all just stated ‘retweet to get good grades, glowing skin, and more money’.

 

Huh. This school year really was no different from any other. He set his phone down and ate his food, putting it in the sink when he was done.

 

Going back to his room, he found that his nephew, Izaiah, already awake, playing with his iPad. Kids these days, Lance swears.

 

“How long were you awake?” Lance questioned quietly, heading to his closet to grab clothes.

 

Izaiah eyes were glued to the screen, focused. Lance could only guess what he was playing. “By the time you got up,” he answered. He had his headphones in, tongue sticking out in concentration, “your loud ass feet were practically beating the floor, I’m surprised you didn’t wake the entire neighborhood up.”

 

Lance slipped on a pair of light-washed jeans. He could only shoot a his nephew a tired glare over his shoulder. “Say that again in front of my mom and the floor isn’t the only thing getting beat.”

 

Izaiah rolled his eyes. “I can say whatever I want. You can’t control me.”

 

Lance stared incredulously “You’re like _ten_.”

 

“Twelve in a few weeks, actually. And you’re a nine year old at heart.”

 

“ _You…_ ’re right,” Lance quietly sighed, defeated. He lightly picked up a pillow from his own bed and threw it at his nephew’s face. Gently. “Just go back to sleep.”

 

Lance usually didn’t bicker with his younger relatives like this, _especially_ at the ripe age of eleven. Still, he talked with Izaiah as if he was older. He knew it was the only way the kid would ever be comfortable around him now.

 

Izaiah retreated back to his god-forsaken game (seriously, someone should put restrictions or an age limit on Fortnite, because he could hear the profanities blasting through Izaiah’s headphones from a few feet away) and didn’t make an effort to converse again. Lance took it as a sign that this was the most he was going to get out of the kid today.

 

He reached for his solid navy blue hoodie, one of the only things in his closet that were new. Lance also grabbed his worn-out white trusty sneakers. He’s been through hell and back with these things, and maybe in a month, when his paychecks stack up, he’ll buy new ones.

 

Lance glanced at the digital clock on the desk next to his bed. 6:15.

 

Good. He has twenty minutes to lay on his bed and do nothing.

 

He hears light snoring from the bed beside him and find Izaiah lightly snoring on his side, iPad completely forgotten. The obnoxious characters of ‘ _#1 Victory Royale_!’ were written on the screen and Lance snorted lightly. What a dumbass.

 

He went back to his phone. A hand-me-down, slightly scratched, rose gold iPhone 6s (that he would never tell his friends that it used to be his older brother’s). Lance went on Snapchat to see that he had new messages, but was disheartened by the fact that they were all just ‘streaks’ that had the usual light-hearted first day of school messages. When he swiped back to camera mode, the dim-lighting of the room mixed with slightly arguable camera quality made Lance look like a raccoon, which took a jab at his already fragile ego. Going back to Instagram was more of the same, his DMs only had a few messages from his classmates asking if they had homework over the summer (they did, in fact, it was an entire essay that took Lance about a week to complete, so they were probably screwed), his football group chat, and his group chat with friends. That group chat consisted of his friends smuggling test and homework answers with simultaneously sending funny memes they stumbled across on their feed. And Facebook? Facebook was only for his older relatives and so he can communicate with family members in Cuba, who don’t have an Instagram or Snapchat.

 

Same old same old, he supposed, quietly getting up from his bed, cursing at the creaking the old frame made.

Before opening the door, he turned to peek at his nephew, making sure he was actually asleep. When he was sure, he silently shut the door.

 

When he left the front door, the blinding sunlight was already violently hitting his eyes. Damn. At least now he could put his new Ray Bans to use.

 

Walking to the bus stop from his neighborhood was always relaxing, if he wasn’t late. There were always stray or local cats that like to cuddle up to the closest human near them. The neighbors were generally nice and friendly, but only if you totally forget and ignore their ‘Trump 2016’ signs that were practically glued to their lawn. Especially the old lady who lived next door. She was really sweet when she wasn’t complaining about how millennials ruined the country and how disrespectful the youth were. There were kids who rode their bikes on the sidewalk and that one occasional kid who likes to show up every other eight year old by swerving past them in his hoverboard. There was one backyard who’s lemon tree always hung over the fence so anyone could steal as many as they liked.

 

It was a normal, American suburban neighborhood.

 

He walked past a house, and paused. Oh. The house that always had new people going in and out had another family that just moved in, based on the lack of the real estate sign and the empty cardboard boxes littered in the driveway.

 

Huh, new neighbors. Maybe they had a kid his age.

 

When he arrived to the bus stop, his suspicions had been confirmed. Sitting on the sidewalk was a scrawny looking person, obviously very tiny. Their caramel hair stuck out in odd directions, messy and unruly, like it was cut by a six year old. They were drowning in a green turtleneck sweater, which was odd, because it was hot as shit outside. And sitting on their face was a large pair of wireframe glasses. Huh.

 

He walked over next to them, awkwardly placing himself on the opposite of the stop sign. The book on their lap looked ten times bigger than the person reading it.

 

Lance tried just killing time by emptying out his mailbox and listening to his music on Spotify, but he eventually got bored of it. He glanced at the book they were reading, and he didn’t recognize it, but the words on the pages were pretty alarming.

 

“Great book your reading,” he tried after a few minutes of awkward silence.

 

The kid looked up at him, eyes squinting at the sun as they looked up. “You’ve read Fahrenheit 451?” they asked.

 

He laughed awkwardly. “No, but the few words I’ve read so far right now make it seem pretty interesting. Is there a movie?”

 

The kid gave him a pointed look. “You probably know what I’m going to say to that.”

 

“I know, I know, the book will always be better than the movie,” he said with a smile. “I’m Lance by the way, you just moved in next door?”

 

The kid extended her arm upwards to reach Lance. “I’m Katie, but my friends call me Pidge. And yeah, I just moved into the neighborhood.”

 

He got a good look at her face for the first time. Unkempt messy brown hair, huge glasses, big, brown eyes, freckled face. She looked oddly familiar, like he’s seen her someplace else. He couldn’t quite place it, but there were a lot of short brown-haired speckled glasses-adorning people in the world.

 

Lance gladly took her hand and shook it. He snorted in the process. “Why would they call you _Pidge_?”

 

Katie- or Pidge, held a face of annoyed bemusement. “My brother was dealing Pokémon cards around the neighborhood when he was like, twelve, and I was seven and bored. I followed him around and he got out the freaking Pidgey card and said it looked like me. The nickname stuck, and now everyone calls me it.”

 

Lance snorted. “Wish my brother was cool like that.”

 

“I’d gladly trade him for a corn chip, if you’d want.”

 

Lance laughed, and it felt good. New year, new classes, new people.

 

They continued their small talk, like her old school back in Maryland, some old stuffy city that her mom got sick of and decided to move across the country to get away from. She also talked about the story of why she cut her hair, which was a ride from start to finish. The dipshit behind her apparently cut a chunk of her hair while she was sleeping because he thought he could sell it to a local wig shop for some extra cash and it ended up with him having two black eyes and a sprained wrist. In turn, Lance told her about what to expect in a new school. He told her what teachers were super chill, super boring, and super strict. He also mentioned to her about how the first football game of the season was free to all students, and she expressed her shock of how a kid like him was a football player, and he expressed his mock offense. The bus came shortly after.

 

“Guess this is my ride,” he sighed. “I’ll see you around school, hopefully.”

 

She looked at him in humor, and snorted. “If I’m unlucky enough.”

 

Climbing on the bus, the first thing he was greeted with was the glare of a new bus driver, which sucked, because he really liked his old bus driver, Barbara. The new bus driver shoved a paper into his hands.

 

“New bus schedule, don’t be late,” she muttered at him.

 

Lance decided it would be best not to be a smartass and inform her that, in fact, he was fifteen minutes early. It felt it was the best decision to keep his mouth shut. After all, his mouth was usually the reason he got in trouble most of the time.

 

He took a quick look at the bus seating. He was usually picked up way earlier than everyone else, but there were still quite a few students on the bus. There were a bunch of unfamiliar kids he never seen before. However, there was one thing he was still grateful for: the silent rule that middle schoolers and freshman had to sit in the front and upperclassmen in the back.

 

He strode to the back of the bus, the way way back, and arrived to some familiar faces. Pidge has sat down in the middle while he headed for the back.

 

One was a cute girl named Ezor (he swore kids in his school were named the weirdest things) on the volleyball team who always sported the highest ponytail every single day. She was loud and incredibly unapologetic on Twitter when it came to curving dudes, but she was fun and great at parties. Apparently, she was of the only people in school who dyed their hair weird colors, like her current hair color orange, and didn’t get in trouble. Lance really did think she was pretty, blue eyes and all, but at this point, Lance had known her since middle school, and is very aware of how she treats any ex who crosses her. Her friend Acxa, near the window seat, was also another girl he’s known through middle school. She played softball and tennis, and she was extremely smart, so it was hard to _not_ notice her. But everyone knew that she was serious at school and made it clear that she wasn’t interested in any relationships, so Lance decided not to flirt with her the first time they met.

 

“Lance!” Ezor exclaimed, hugging him as he sat down to the seats next to them. The bus started to pick up speed again. “I’ve missed you! How come you didn’t come with us at the movies?”

 

He grinned sheepishly. He totally forgot that they were suppose to go to the movies with some of her friends in July. “Does anyone _actually_ meet up during summer break?”

 

She shrugged, leaning back on Acxa, who glared at her. “You’re right. Only dreamers can only hope,” Ezor sighed.

 

Acxa scowled. “Bullshit. _You’re_ the one who didn’t want to go because Rolo was going.”

 

“I’m basically on fucking house arrest because my mom found weed in my backpack last semester! She’ll take _look_ at Rolo and she’ll homeschool me forever.”

 

“I don’t mind if we’d go to the movies, just the two of us,” Lanced suggested, grinning.

 

Acxa groaned loudly. “Lance, do you ever get tired of the constant flirting? It never worked on us before and it won’t work now.”

 

Lance shrugged. “A guy can only try.”

 

They talk for a couple of minutes to catch up on their summer. Lance tells her about work an interesting experiences of a woman asking to speak with his manager because she asked for a cheeseburger without the cheese or patty, and summer football practices, which were less eventful. Ezor tells him all about how her mom found a gram of he devil’s lettuce in her backpack and how she now had to go to weekly sessions of teens with unhealthy addictions. She also told him that one of the attendees had a strange obsession with his anime body pillow that he sometimes brought to meetings, and how very non-kid friendly it was.

 

Ezor talked with such ease that it was compelling to listen to her talk about _volleyball_ , which he knew little about and didn’t want to know more about. Their conversations were never boring, even when they had nothing to talk about.

 

Acxa even joined in on the conversation half-way through. She would occasionally quip about how stupid Ezor was or Lance was or both. She even talked a little about the internship she did over the summer for something that involved technology or science or whatever. Lance really didn’t understand half of the words she said, but it refreshing to talk to her about something that didn’t involve homework.

 

“So, let me get this straight,” Exor said, stuffing chips into her mouth that she took out of her bag. “They let you build _laser_ _guns_ at a summer camp?”

 

“Internship,” Acxa corrected without any malice in her tone, stealing some chips from Ezor. “They didn’t do anything, they were like overglorified laser tag guns, they didn’t hurt at all.”

 

“ _Still_ ,” Lance exclaimed, interjecting in their conversation. He should have taken this super-cool internship Acxa was talking about. “They trust teenagers to build stuff like that?”

 

“You had to have experience before applying,” Acxa explained. “And besides, it’s was Lotor’s dad’s company, they’re too rich to realize how much extra scraps they actually have. And the only group who actually made it work was my cousin and I.”

 

Ezor squinted at Acxa. “I thought you said you didn’t _have_ any cousins your age.”

 

She pointed her Cheeto at Acxa accusingly, who in turn, ate it. Acxa shifted in her seat, crossing her arms. “He’s new,” she shrugged.

 

“New at school?” Lance grinned, leaning closer to grab some chips. Another new kid, did people really like his high school that much? This one sounded pretty smart too, if he could build something from scratch. He stuffed his mouth with the cardboardy taste of Cheetos, which muffled his next words. “Where’s he from?”

 

“Texas.”

 

“The fucking yee-haw state,” Ezor joked, and Lance laughed, throwing chips at her. She caught it with her mouth, and winked back at him. She turned to Acxa, mouth still chewing as she talked. “Didn’t know you were related to a _cowboy_.”

 

“You’re hilarious,” Acxa deadpanned, expertly avoiding a cheeto from landing at her face.

 

They continued their shenanigans, much to the disappointment of the bus driver, who judged glared at them through the large mirror at the front of the bus. The bag of Cheetos was empty and disregarded in Ezor’s backpack, because honestly, they weren’t that big of dicks, if you ignored the forgotten chips on the floor. Throughout the rest of the bus ride, they (excluding Acxa) continued to be those obnoxious, hyper upperclassmen excited for what the year would bring.

 

The bus abruptly stopped, causing both Ezor and Lance’s face to meet the seat in front of them. Ow.

 

“Alright!” the new bus driver shouted over the collection of groans. “Before you all head into school, I have some rules that you all need to know.”

 

She continued to say that there was no food allowed on the bus, and she was staring daggers at Ezor and Lance while she was speaking. Whoops. She also said that there were no balloons allowed, no drinks without trustable caps, no bags bigger than a person, something about dress code, and a bunch of other stuff. Honestly, half-way through, Lance wasn’t even listening anymore. He’s heard these rules since the 6th grade. Lance was playing those iPhone text message games with Ezor, who he was currently destroying in a game of 8 ball. Of course, Acxa was pretending to listen, but she was also texting another friend of hers.

 

When the bus driver finally dismissed them, their group immediately shot up and headed for the bus door. He even spotted Pidge’s excited head out of the door.

 

Walking out of the bus, Lance gathered his surroundings. The familiar front steps of his school was littered with students already, as well as some faculty. The buses around him had already unloaded their passengers. Some students were running to their best friends and hugging them dramatically like the Notebook. Others looked completely dead inside and trudged towards the front of the school’s gates.

 

Ah, yes. The two biggest moods of high school.

 

Ezor and Acxa already had said their goodbyes to him and headed to the direction where some of their other friends Zethrid and Narti (people had some really weird names at this school) had just gotten off of the bus. Lance opted to go the other direction. He decided to head towards the quad, where he knew his friends would be.

 

The front steps of the school were large and pretty recognizable. The front entrance looked similar to a grand gate you’d see in mansions and rich people stuff like that, and the buildings were blindingly white (shoutout to the janitors, because last year some kids from their rival school threw their breakfast burritos at the highest point of the building, which was pretty tall). The school’s mascot, a gigantic blue and gold lion, was presented proudly between the blue banners that recognized all the awards that Arusia High School had been presented over the many years it had been open. Students had already gotten breakfast and were eating their food on the steps, while others were being chastised by administrators for skateboarding on the rails.

 

The white halls were as packed and lively as Lance could remembers. There were new incoming freshmen standing by their lockers, eagerly checking them out and decorating them. Kids were catching up with their friends and people were casually flirting. The light from the many windows that the school had provided made the halls more bright and beautiful, just as he remembers it.

 

A hand suddenly claps his shoulder which makes him jolt and almost drops his phone as he whips his head around.

 

The familiar scent of something that should probably not be allowed in school grounds and apples fill his nose.

 

_Fuck._

 

“Lance!” Rolo burst, wrapping his arm around Lance’s shoulder and Lance swears he could feel the beads of sweat falling down on his sweatshirt. “Long time no see.”

 

Lance relunctantly unwrapped Rolo’s arm, and made sure he was at _least_ three feet away from him. He tried his best to conjure up a the fakest smile he could manage.

 

“Hey Rolo,” Lance managed, putting his hands in his pockets. Did his voice go up a pitch? “Haven’t seen you in awhile either.”

 

Rolo had changed quite a lot over the summer, but it was easy to recognize him from any distance. His dark dirty blonde hair, which was already pretty long in previous years, now touched his shoulders. Through his hair was his ears, which held a variety of piercings that were probably new. He’s still sporting his worn out grey beanie, but this time it doesn’t take up more than half of his face, because damn, he really grew a few inches over the summer. He still looked like the resident pothead, though.

 

Rolo grinned wolfishly. “Yeah. Was kinda bummed you ditched us at the movies.”

 

Lance chuckled anxiously. “I was busy with my mom.”

 

_Busy_ his ass. The day they were supposed to go to the movies was the day he decided he would inhale an entire sleeve of Oreos and a bag of chips while watching Harry Potter reruns. He felt disgusting but satisfied afterwards.

 

He could tell that Rolo saw right through his half-assed lie, but he chose to ignore it. He was, after all, full of secrets.

 

Rolo’s eyes suddenly became fixated on Lance’s. “And hey, about what happened-“

 

The bell rang before Rolo could even finish his sentence, and Lance gave a quick goodbye before heading to his first class. He could barely make out the dejected look on the other boy’s face before he practically sprinted out of the hall. Shit, he had even forgot to meet up with his friends before school started.

 

Walking around in a wide open campus instead of a scruffy one building school was something that Lance was grateful for when he transferred from the middle school. It made it ten times easier to breathe and ten times easier to get around faster. The sun was beaming, the sky was blue, and everyone was chatting endlessly as they headed excitedly to their first class. Campus security and administrators were riding around in their golf carts (seriously, couldn’t they just walk instead of wasting the district’s money?) and dress coding some girls as they drove past.

 

Lance like the way the school looked. Upholding it’s aesthetic superiority to other schools, every single building was painted white, with stains washed off completely. The lamp posts held those blue and gold banner flags that reminded everyone of their many academic awards. There was green everywhere, no tree or grassy area had any yellow patch, and the plants always looked lush and healthy. It was one of the prettiest schools in the state.

 

He can’t say the same about the kids, but you can’t always have the perfect school.

 

Lance’s first class was unfortunately AP World History. In all honesty, he has zero interest in history or anything of the sorts. He took it for the augmented point that would be added to his GPA. Nothing like having a hard class as your first period.

 

As he snaked his way through campus, he’s had already said hi to multiple people and greeted some of his teachers from previous years. It’s weird, seeing everyone after so long, having so many memories with them, and then never talking for the a while.

 

He finally arrives at room 610, the corner of the 600 building. When he opens the door, there are already a couple of students. They were all spread out, talking amongst each other. He sees Acxa sitting at the back desk, who’s talking to Narti, so he doesn’t bother her. Instead, he heads over to Luxia, who had just settled into the classroom as well.

 

“Lance!” she greets with a smile, and he remembers why he had a crush on her in middle school.

 

Luxia is a really, _really_ pretty cheerleader. With long, blonde hair and brown eyes, and a very independent personality, it was hard for Lance to not gain a crush on her in eighth grade. He’s asked her out, they dated for a month, then they both decided it would be best if they stayed friends after all. They still were.

 

(In truth, Lance thought she was a bit manipulative.)

 

They both caught up with each other until the late bell rang, and by that time, everyone was already in class, except for the actual teacher. That was weird. Lance had heard a bunch of positive stuff about this teacher.

 

The moment the late bell had stopped ringing, the metal door was slammed open. Everyone in the classroom yelped or involuntarily screamed at the sudden entrance.

 

The man at the door was straight up _heaving_ , as if he had just ran a marathon. One hand was on his knee and the other was on the door handle, and he was wheezing heavily.

 

The whole class gawked as the middle-aged man shuffled to the front of the classroom. He fixed his tie, smoothed his hair, then beamed at the class.

 

“Sorry for running late, everyone!” he apologized, but he didn’t actually look sheepish. “The teacher conference they held today was all the way across campus, and without one of the golf carts, I had co-ran all the way here!”

 

The teacher had chuckled at himself, and Lance wasn’t sure if what he just said was a joke or not.

 

He took in the guy’s appearance. The man had a perfectly ironed baby blue dress shirt tucked into equally expensive looking dress pants. He was middle-aged, maybe about forty, but had the energy of a kid. His orange hair was slicked back perfectly, and he had a full on Mario mustache sitting cleanly on his upper lip. He even had a black bow tie. This was their teacher?

 

After a few seconds of giggling, the man coughed into his fist awkwardly. “Well, since I’m here, welcome to AP World History. My full name is Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, but you can call me Coran.“ Ah, that explains the terrible joke, “I trust that you all completed your summer assignments.”

 

Of course Lance completed the summer assignment. He did it two days before school, when he realized that, oh shit, this is something he could _not_ do last minute.

 

“As you all know, this class is no easy feat. Many of you will probably drop out before the month even ends!” Coran exclaims. The whole class looks at each other nervously, as if they were sizing down the weaker ones. “However, I have faith in all of you! As long as you do your best, I have no doubt you will all pass this class with flying colors.”

 

Bullshit. Almost everyone that took this class in previous years had cried at least once.

 

Coran starts taking attendance, chirping everyone’s names in alphabetical order. Except for maybe three people, he’s had most of these kids in other classes before.

 

He lets them sit wherever they want for the time being and Lance makes a beeline towards the back desks. Acxa and Luxia, apparently, had the same idea, because they sat firmly on the desks next to Lance’s. He feels bad for the rest of the students, who begrudging sat near the front.

 

“Take out your summer assignments and turn to the page for chapter one,” Coran said, setting up his powerpoint, turning off the lights. “We’ll be discussing the chapters to make sure you lot actually know what you’re doing.”

 

The shuffling of papers over took the classroom, and Lance got out his own. The writing looked like a mess, but hey, it was completed.

 

Coran started to drone on and on about things that Lance already knew, because he actually read the chapter. Apparently, Lance was the only one in class who actually did his work, because at eight at night the other day, everyone was asking him what anything meant. Coran going over the lesson was a blessing in disguise. He started talking passionately about a dead man that no one really cared about, and Lance almost fell asleep on the spot.

 

He was so dozed off that he didn’t notice that his pencil was tipping over the desk. The red mechanical pencil toppled on the desk before completely falling onto the floor. The sound jolted him back to reality, and Acxa glared at him, exhaustedly.

 

Lance, as quietly as he possibly could, scooted the chair out ever so slightly so that he could look for his pencil. Of course, the plastic chair was loud as fuck, because the sound it made resembled a dying whale. People around him giggled or glared at him, and he just stuck his tongue out at Acxa, who looked like she wanted to murder him.

 

He couldn’t find his red pencil anywhere around him, but spotted it a couple of desks ahead of him. He internally groaned. How the hell did it slide all the way over there? When he tried to grab it, it was too far out of his reach. He huffed in annoyance.

 

The pencil was pointed at someone, and Lance looked up to the person to ask them to grab his pencil.

 

It was a bit dark to see, but Lance could see the outline of the guy perfectly. He was wearing a dark t-shirt, outlining his biceps. This dude was a lean type of muscular, kind of like Lance himself. He was scribbling down notes, as if he was actually listening to a word Coran was saying. His red sweatshirt was hung loosely over his chair, and he sported a duffle bag next to his desk, making Lance assume he was in some type of sport. He could made out a mess of dark, black hair and- wait, was that a _mullet_? A fucking mullet? In 2018?

 

Lance would definitely remember a guy with a shit hairstyle like that; meaning that he’s never seen this kid around before.

 

Realizing that he’s been leaning on his chair too long, he instead asks the person in front of him for his pencil, wondering who the fuck let their kid look like Billy Ray Cyrus.

 

* * *

 

 

When lunch finally arrives, Lance had already struggled through four, grueling periods. Most of them were just introduction periods, where the teacher basically introduced themselves and what you should expect in their class that year. It was boring, and most of the time Lance was texting under the desks. The only class he actually learned from was his first period, and it was just a reiteration of what he already knew.

 

Lunch rush was busy, per usual. Every grade, from freshmen to seniors, had the same lunch period, meaning that cafeteria lines were always long and slow. Lance was originally going to have one of his older friends drive to McDonald’s to grab some chicken nuggets, but opted not to.

 

The lunch lady gave him the best of what you could expect from American public school lunch: a sad, dry hamburger without any lettuce or tomato, milk, and a side of chips. The chips were probably the only thing he was gonna eat.

 

He navigated through the crowds and found his group in their usual spot. It was a grassy few tables in the middle of the quad, and one of the few tables that actually had umbrellas and shade.

 

When he arrived at the table, he grinned at the sight. Some guys were play wrestling with each other, one in a headlock and the other pretending to pass out- well, he _hope_ he was pretending. The other guys were chowing down their food, which happened to be two pizza boxes that they order when lunch started. They were obnoxiously blasting their shitty music through a portable speaker, and other students glared at them, but said nothing.

 

This was peak lunchtime.

 

As he got to the table, Bandor set down his pizza slice and did handshake with Lance. “Hey Lance, pizza’s just arrived.”

 

Bandor was a year younger than him, a sophomore. He used to play on the JV team at the beginning of his freshman year, but they bumped him up to the varsity team after an incredible performance for the first five games. Because of the fact that he had really nice brown hair and blue eyes, a killer combo for the girls, and was nice to anyone in a five mile radius of him, he was incredibly popular.

 

Not to mention that his sister, Romelle, was extremely hot, but he’ll touch on that subject later.

 

“Fucking _thank you_ ,” Lance groans as he tosses his tray carelessly on the table. He grabbed a slice urgently and it tasted like heaven on earth. “You saved me from eating these stale ass hamburgers.”

 

“I didn’t buy it,” Bandor said, while chewing his food. He pointed at the incoming dude that was walking to their table. “Dak did.”

 

Lance turned his head around to see that, Dak was indeed heading towards there tables. He hasn’t seen him since summer practices. Dak was tall, decked, and the former captain of the football team. He was incredibly ripped, and hovered over everyone like a lamppost. Unfortunately, he was far from friendly giant. He found that out the hard way when he called him by his full name, Sendak, instead of his nickname that he insisted everyone used. The guy was kind of a dick, but Lance got used to it after a while.

 

Before Lance could even say hi, Dak was already pissed off and growling.

 

“You all ate my fucking pizza,” Dak scowled, taking three slices at a time. “I told you assholes not to eat it until I get back.”

 

Bandor grinned, put his arm around Dak’s neck, chewing loudly. He knew fully well that he was the only person to do this without getting his arm ripped off by Dak. “We were so hungry dude, you see the shit they give us at the cafeteria?”

 

“That’s why I took a summer job instead of being lazy fuckers like the rest of you,” Dak hissed, but the rest of the football team weren’t listening or didn’t care. “so I didn’t have to put that garbage near my mouth.”

 

“You worked at Lotor’s company, huh?” Lance asked. “Heard that dude was fucking horrible.”

 

Lotor was what Lance considered to be a modern legend, except for the fact that he actually existed. He was about Lance’s age, extremely good looking, but is home-schooled and doesn’t live anywhere near school grounds. He’s famous because his father owns a pretty powerful tech company that decided to put their headquarters in their hometown. Arusia became the center of national attention for being one of the only small cities in the country to house a powerful Wall Street built company such as Galra Industries. Everyone’s ever only seen Lotor in the news or in commercials, but only a select number of students have met the guy in real life, like Acxa and Dak.

 

“He’s an annoying bratty piece of shit,” Dak confirmed through a slice of pizza. “But man, does he pay well for construction work.”

 

“How much _does_ he pay,” Bandor questioned, suddenly intrigued.

 

Dak whipped out his phone, a shiny new iPhone X that Lance had been saving up for. Smugly, he showed them the screen. When Lance saw the amount, his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Bandor was gaping in the corner as well.

 

“T-that’s way more than minimum wage…” Lance sputtered. Bandor was coughing on his pizza.

 

Smirking, Dak put his phone away. “Lotor’s got way too much money. Apparently he’s been rebelling against his dad and giving his workers even _more_ pay. Never thought I’d be happy that someone’s in a mood.”

 

“Speaking of moods,” Bandor began, turning to Dak, who scowled at him. “You looked like you were about to murder someone walking over here. What’s up?”

 

Just as fast as he had gotten into his good mood, Dak’s bad mood overtook. Everyone at the table looked nervously at each other. They didn’t want to deal with his overbearing temper again. “Just came back from talking to the coach about new positions.”

 

Dak had decided not to be football captain this year, because of the detriments that came with the third year of high school. He thought it would be too much of responsibility, which Lance could agree with, since it was pretty overbearing. High school was already overbearing without all the extracurriculars and advanced placement classes. However, in exchange for the captain position, Dak was aiming for being the season’s certified quarterback. Just like Lance was.

 

They both looked at him curiously. “And?”

 

“I asked him if he’d decided if he’d let me get the main quarterback spot, and you know what he fucking said?” Dak sneered, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. “That he already chose another person.”

 

Lance instantly perked up. “Who?”

 

Dak scoffed at Lance. “It wasn’t you.” Lance tried to ignore the pang in his chest. “I’d doubt the coach is stupid enough to make you into quarterback.”

 

Lance really tried not to take Dak’s words to heart, but the ache in his chest said otherwise. Yes, it would be weird that late into the season coach would shape him into a quarterback, but he still tried. He never skipped any summer practices, he was obedient to the coach, and he showed that he had other qualities besides his own role. He’s been exercising at home by himself to shape up for the season. Instead of taking his bike, he runs to the convenience store. Every little nag and piece of advice his coach had given him, he’d used to create and stronger, healthier, and more reliable player than most of the guys here. He’s even been doing this before coach even opened the spot.

 

Bandor looked at Lance with a gaze of pity, but all Lance could do was glare at him. After all, Bandor was also in the running for the quarterback position.

 

Dak either didn’t notice Lance’s sudden change in demeanor or he didn’t care. “I was really pissed off, but I just asked who. And you know what he fucking said?”

 

In an instant, he went from mildly annoyed to looking like he _did_ want to murder someone, and Lance couldn’t help but feel a bit scared.

 

“That it was some fucking new kid,” Dak spat, as if the words left poison in his mouth. Someone had stopped their obnoxious music, and suddenly everyone on the team was quiet. Bandor, the usual buzz of energy, seemed anxious as well.

 

“Some fucking fag.”

 

Lance felt his blood run cold.

 

All the rest of his teammates simply shrugged and turned up the music, going back to eating pizza and arguing about trivial things. Even Bandor didn’t care, going back to his phone and talking amongst his other classmates. But not Lance.

 

He’s always felt uncomfortable with the word and what it was associated with. Lance swears like a sailor often, but he’s never used it in his life. It makes him feel cold, and even if it was used lightheartedly amongst friends, Lance still couldn’t find a way to make it not bother him. There was something about the word that made him want to throw up, like he was allergic to it. He remembers first hearing the usage in middle school, when a bunch of guys in his class were calling each other it, and how he looked it up on google. He remembers the sour taste in his mouth when he cleared his search history.

 

He hates- no, he despises the word.

 

But he keeps his mouth shut and pretends he’s okay, as he laughs with the rest of the team for the entirety of lunch.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance’s hero was an NFL player by the name of Blaytz Nalquod.

 

He was one of the most prominent American football players in the states and around the world. Even in Cuba, everyone knew the name of the number one footballer in the world. By the time his mother moved to the United States at the age of ten, Blaytz was already rising up as one of the league’s most valuable players. And by the time Lance was born, he was everyone, in every Superbowl, every advertisement, and every channel on television.

 

The first time he’s ever been exposed to the legend was when he experienced his first Superbowl. He’s sitting between his loud uncles who are too enthusiastic about what seemed to be an over-glorified game of hot potato. Lance is a bit moody, because he didn’t want to be with his rowdy uncles, but his older brothers and cousins kicked him out of their rooms, because he was too young. He was already six, he wasn’t that young.

 

The announcer is going crazy over this guy name Aids or Blades or whatever, but Lance doesn’t really care, because he’s watching the guy who’s running down the field with the hot potato ball in his hands. His tias are talking about how hot that guy was, which made Lance feel icky, because that was gross. His tios also really like this guy. Everyone really likes this guy. Lance feels a twinge of jealousy, because of all the attention the tiny man on the television was getting. Did his tias and tios even know the running guy’s name? Did they even know Lance’s?

 

But when the guy expertly dodges two other big muscly men, Lance is intrigued. He was fast and strong and smart. Everytime someone called him smart or strong or fast, they meant it as good, so this guy is good.

 

Then, the tiny man is racing three other men, and Lance couldn’t help but think it was an action movie. He was like a spy, like James Bond, and spies were cool. Lance could tell he was tired, because the announcer was saying that he was tired, but he kept on running. Lance remembers frowning, because if he’s tired, shouldn’t he take a break? But he doesn’t take a break, and Lance thinks that’s the coolest thing ever.

 

And then he gets to what looks like a finish line, and Lance can’t help but be reminded that hot potato doesn’t have finish lines. But when the tiny man throws his helmet on the ground and cheers, Lance watches in amazement. His teammates run over to him and pick him up, and he’s laughing and crying. His family members are cheering loudly, and it hurts his ears, but what hurt more was how much he was smiling. Even his brothers and cousins came down to celebrate, and Lance wonders what it would be like if he was celebrated like that.

 

Lance watches as the man gives a heartfelt speech thanking his family and God. He watches as he gets an award for being really cool.

 

And that’s when Lance decided that this guy was going to be his hero. He wanted to be this man.

 

When Lance tells Dak this offhandedly in fifth grade football practice, Dak laughs in his face. He straight up barks, and Lance can’t help but feel a flush of embarrassment rise in his cheeks. Dak stopped laughing, and Lance asked him why he thought it was funny. Dak looked him straight in the eye, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

_He’s white and you’re brown_ , he remembers Dak’s voice, laced with poison. Like if Lance was dumb, as if he didn’t already know that.

 

So what? There were obvious physical differences, but Lance was still good at football, just like Blaytz. Dak probably doesn’t remember ever speaking the words, because it was when they were ten, but Lance remembers them clearly. It was his drive and motivation. If the legendary Blaytz Nalquod has to work hard, Lance had to work twice as hard. And that’s what he did. What he always does.

 

That’s why Lance can’t help but feel his blood boil when he walks into practice that day.

 

He had busted his ass for the position. Dak knew it, Bandor knew it, meaning coach definitely noticed. He could outrun any of these dudes in a heartbeat. Lance could lift tenfold of what his teammates could without breaking a sweat. He’s absorbed all of the coach’s advice like a sponge and executed perfectly. But even after all that ass kissing and kicking, the coach decides to hand it to someone else, someone who wasn’t even on the _team_. He’s deal with Dak getting the position, but he just gave it to a new kid who didn’t even go to summer practices. It was a slap to the face, to all of their faces.

 

Lance genuinely did respect Coach Shiro. He was a former marine who lost his arm in the process, but still manages to keep an upbeat attitude, and even makes arm jokes. He even has a cool looking scar on the bridge of his nose and a puff of white hair from his vitiligo. He could have any job he wanted, because everyone in town respected and liked him. But he decided on some shitty paying coaching job to his former high school, because the state still pays for most of his bills. He’s incredible, really, every workout paid off, and every play he’s ever came up with led to an instinct victory for the team.

 

But Lance really does think that the three shots of 5 Hour Energy and the can of Redbull Shiro drank was really starting to get to his head, because what the hell was he thinking.

 

Everyone on the team was huddled up near the bleachers, talking amongst themselves. They already heard the news. If they didn’t hear it from Dak’s constant yapping, they heard it from somewhere else.

 

Coach Shiro came late, which was weird. He’s usually earlier than everyone, running laps around the track, urging everyone to follow him.

 

“Alright, everyone, gather up,” Shiro urged, looking dead inside, as everyone begrudgingly gathered in a circle. He probably already knew what everyone was thinking. “We’re starting the new season quickly, the first game is next Friday, so let’s get positions over with.”

 

“I know that you’re all wondering why I didn’t give you your positions when we started practicing,” Shiro continued, getting out his clipboard. Lance could see the bags under his eyes, hidden by a baseball cap. “But I wanted to see everyone’s strengths and weaknesses beforehand. When you are given a position, you don’t get to expand your skills in other areas that aren’t necessary to your position. If I gave you center, you’d always think and be a center, when in reality, you’d be a pretty damn good guard. And last year, you’d usually blame someone else for not doing their job. I thought it would help you understand other’s positions better.”

 

It was a pretty good excuse, Lance could admit. But knowing Shiro, he probably only did rotating positions during summer practices instead of flat out giving positions so that he wasn’t forced to give Dak the quarterback position.

 

“With that being said, I’ve been watching all of you carefully,” Shiro said, flipping over the pages. “I chose the positions I thought fit best for every individual, as well as how well you work with others that depend on your position. So, if you have problems with where you’re placed, this is entirely experimental. It’s likely that I’ll be moving around people. For offense, Bandor, you’re right offensive tackle…”

 

The brown-haired boy sighed, but was content with it as he sat down.

 

One by one, Shiro went down the list. People sat down one by one, and Lance was still awkwardly standing, ignoring his teammates’ curious glances.

 

He might not be the go-to quarterback, but he could possibly be one of them.

 

“Lance,” Shiro called, and his head shot up. “Wide receiver.”

 

Instantly, Lance felt his entire body drop. He turned to sit down by the bench next to his friends. Of fucking course. Of course he was the running back, he shouldn’t have expected anything more. He’s been running back since eighth grade. Don’t get him wrong, it’s not like he’s bad at it, or that he thinks its not fun. It way more entertaining than some of the other ones, and he’s exceptionally good at his job. It’s just that he wanted more.  

 

“Wait,” Shiro said and Lance paused. “Don’t sit down just yet.”

 

Lance turned to Shiro, who was shuffling through his papers.

 

“I’ve been wanting to experiment something for a while now,” he explained. “Lance, you’re a really good wide receiver, but you’ve been proving something to me lately. Don’t think I haven’t been noticing you’re intuition and drive. So, this year, I’ve decided for three QB spots.”

 

Shiro turned to his large team. “As most of you know, there is going to be a new member of our team. Keith, get down here.”

 

A figure from the top of the bleachers put his book down and got up. Lance didn’t even know someone was sitting there, and apparently, his teammates didn’t either. He squinted, trying to get a good look at the person, but the sun was too bright.

 

When he finally got down the bleachers, Lance took in the new player’s appearance. He was wearing a maroon hoodie with the Nike symbol on his chest. He was already wearing thigh and knee pads, with black cleats. Lance could see his face clearly now, as well. He was about the same height as Lance himself. He had thick, furrowed eyebrows. His eyes were pretty weird, because Lance knew they were probably just brown, but he could have sworn they looked purple. The kid looked a bit annoyed, a scowl present on his face, like he didn’t want to even be there. He had a very sharp jawline and pretty nice skin, which he took note of.

 

“This,” Shiro said, and he clapped his hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith scowl deepened, and he looked like he wanted to murder someone. “Is your new starting quarterback.”

 

What.

 

“Sendak is going to be his second, and Lance,” Shiro looks and Lance seriously. “You’re going to be starting wide receiver and third QB.”

 

_What_.

 

Shiro looked at Lance like he just gave him a puppy, when Lance feels like he’s just ran him over with a train. _Third_ quarterback?

 

“How come Lance gets two positions?” someone whispers to another. “And how come a newbie gets the most important spot on the team. This is bullshit.”

 

“Not to overreact,” Lance intervenes. “Which I do all the time anyway, but why the hell is _he_ the starting quarterback? He’s been here for, like, two seconds.”

 

He could feel the crowd murmur, everyone having the same thoughts as Lance. Even Dak, who looked pretty pissed off, grunted in agreement from the corner

 

“I know the risk I’m taking is very calculated-” Shiro started.

 

“And, _man_ , are you bad at math,” Lance cut off, feeling his annoyance rise to a level of anger. “Some of us have been working for months to be starting QB. Suddenly, he shows up and now we’re supposed to deal with it?”

 

Shiro looks even more dead inside than before. He sighs. “Lance, he’s was the QB at his old school, and we know he’s really good.”

 

“We haven’t even seen the kid play yet!” Lance argues.

 

“The kid has a name, you know,” Keith says dryly, and he’s got his arms crossed.

 

Suddenly, Keith isn’t taking cover from their words behind Shiro’s arm, and was now in full view to the entire team. He looked at Lance, annoyed, and Lance definitely knows that there’s a bit of purple in his eyes now. Lance could see a faded scar on his right cheek, and- wait, was that a mullet? This is the mullet kid from history?

 

“Okay, John Stamos,” Lance retorted, and Keith’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He could hear Bandor snort, and he was about to go off on him, because the kid was only an inch away from sporting a mullet of his own. “Then you tell me why we should trust you to carry us undefeated to finals.”

 

“I was the quarterback for Garrison High,” Keith retorts simply, and something in Lance’s head clicked.

 

The mullet, the eyes, the permanent anger on his face-

 

“You’re that dickhead from last championships!” Lance gasped, like he just cracked a code.

 

Keith’s eyes flared. “What the _fuck_ did you just say to me-“

 

“Language, both of you!” Shiro snapped, but made no effort to stop them.

 

“Not to offend you in any way,” Lance clarified. “But you were the QB that kept on pushing us back! You were pretty annoying, because that game was pretty rough. Garrison had us in the first half, but it was annoying having to chase after you eleven times.”

 

“You were there?” Keith asked.

 

“Um, yeah?” Lance said. “Remember? It was Lance and Keith, neck to neck.”

 

Keith looks at him blankly. Lance stares back.

 

Lance faces Shiro. “There is absolutely no way you can let him be the QB.”

 

Shiro scowls at Lance, like he just got the biggest headache in the world. “I told you all, this is experimental. I don’t know if this is the best arrangement, but it doesn’t hurt to try. You’re both very capable, but right now, our best bet is Keith.”

 

Lance scoffs, crossing his arms. “I thought you built this team on how well we work with each other.”

 

“And I’m _hoping_ ,” Shiro says, picking up his backpack. “That’ll you’ll all welcome Keith here with open arms. End of discussion. Practice started ten minutes ago, get your asses on the field.”

 

He blows his annoyingly loud whistle directly into Lance’s ear, which leaves it ringing for a good few seconds. Hesitantly, everyone starts picking up their bags and water bottles, and started heading towards the track field, where coach Shiro was already running laps, yelling at everyone to hurry up. Dak snarls as he throws his duffle bag aggressively over his shoulder, stalking down the bleachers. Bandor looks worriedly at Dak, then to Lance before leaving.

 

Before Lance could even get his stuff, Keith grabs his shoulder. He whips his head around to see a frustrated pair of eyes.

 

“Look…” Keith starts, but Lance shoved his hand away from him.

 

“No, _you_ look,” Lance said. “Just because you were QB in your last school doesn’t mean your the shit. Some of us have been working our asses off for the last three months, and you couldn’t even bother showing up. The moment you slip up, Dak and I are going to be there waiting.”

 

Keith is stunned for a moment, then goes back to his scowl. Does Keith have a resting bitch face, or did he always look like he had a stick up his ass?

 

“Fine,” Keith decides, grabbing his own black and red duffle bag. “But don’t even bother waiting, because I’m not backing down.”

 

“Fine,” Lance mimicked as Keith turned away angrily, and shoved his shoulder into Lance’s.

 

Keith stalked all the way to the field, not even bothering picking up the pace when Shiro called specifically for him. Lance felt his shoulders relax when he didn’t even realize they were tense. He sits down glumly, looking at his hands absentmindedly.

 

This was not how he imagined this going down when he practiced this conversation it in fifth period.

 

* * *

 

 

If Lance were to title his autobiography, it would be A Series of Unfortunate Events, because that’s what it became when Keith came into it.

 

Lance had just realized that the mullet wearing asshole was almost in all of his classes. He was always in the fucking front, as if he actually wanted to learn something. Everywhere he went in school, Keith was always there. He went to the library to check out his science book that he totally forgot to get on the first day of school. He was there when Lance went to the bathroom to get a stain out of his white t-shirt when he bumped into some freshmen holding a juice box. Did life really hate him that much?

 

Lance found almost everything Keith did annoying. Like the way he wore black or a variant of black almost every single day, and he wants to cry, because does he have any other type of shirt? And the way that he looks, because he always looks so angry all the time. Seriously, was Keith’s aesthetic brooding emo kid stuck in the 2000s? What bothered him the most was that girls actually found him _attractive_. Greasy hair and all. Even Luxia, who he was hanging out with during lunch one time, offhandedly called him cute.

 

One of the worst things about Keith is that he had to see him first thing when he gets to school. Like a psychopath, Keith arrives at school early, willingly, and waits in Coran’s room ready for class.

 

Five days into school and Coran already gives them their first group paired assignment. It’s something to do with creating a presentation about formidable monarchs throughout history or whatever, and Lance is already bored. Why would he want to give more attention to filthy, dead rich guys who kill thousands of people for fun? Worst part is that Coran decides to pick partners. But Lance is pretty much cool with everyone in the class already, as long as he doesn’t pick-

 

“Keith and Lance,” Coran chirps, and Lance internally groans. “You’re going to be partners for the in class assignment.”

 

Great, now Lance has to spend two whole class periods next to mullet head. Keith visibly grimaced, and doesn’t looked as stoked for the project either.

 

Acxa pokes Lance’s back. “Hey, you have my cousin. Try not to provoke him.”

 

Lance almost fell out of his chair.

 

Keith and Acxa were related? Keith is her cousin, who built the weird laser tag guns at their summer camp? Keith was a freaking genius? It made sense now, that he thought of it, because they kind of looked similar, and there weren’t many Korean people that went to their school. Acxa was the only Korean person he _knew_. Lance was wrapping the idea around his head that the mysterious cousin, the weird mullet kid in AP World History, and the new kid on the team were the exact same person. Life was crazy.

 

Wait, Keith was from _Texas_?

 

“Didn’t know that first part, because that second part? Well…” Lance laughed nervously, and Acxa scowled at him.

 

Coran calls for everyone to sit next to their partners, and Lance reluctantly placed himself next to Keith’s desk. Keith was wearing headphones, surrounded by a black hoodie. It was summer, and he was wearing two things that people should absolutely not wear during summer. Lance felt appalled.

 

They both open the school owned laptops silently, and Keith is not looking at Lance at all. Lance could practically feel the teenage angst energy radiating off of Keith, and he wondered if it was good for his skin.

 

It was Keith who spoke first, and thank god, because who knows what would come out of Lance’s mouth. “Should we just do a powerpoint or do separate videos and send it to each other to put together later?”

 

“That video thingy sounds like responsibility and I try to steer clear of that,” Lance answers, eating a bag of Skittles he stole from Bandor earlier that morning. “Powerpoint is easier, because we can both work on the document at the same time.”

 

“Right…” Keith said, creating a powerpoint file and sending it to Lance. “So now we just have to pick what monarch we want to do.”

 

Lance throws the skittles in the air and into his mouth, perfectly. Keith looks thoroughly annoyed, but Lance could not honestly give a shit. It was only a twenty point assignment, and it was the easiest topic ever.

 

“I’m thinking,” Lance says while chewing. “We do that guy who, like, killed all his wives because his dick didn’t work and decided to create a whole new religion which is basically Catholicism except you can divorce people. I forgot his name though…”

 

“Henry VIII,” Keith states, and starts typing it down.

 

“Um, no,” Lance said, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “I’m pretty sure it was Henry V.”

 

“I wrote two whole pages about this guy in middle school,” Keith assures. “I’m positive it’s Henry VIII.”

 

“And I did the chapter readings,” Lance argued, going on the document and typing Henry V instead. “Rigorously. And I can confirm that it was Henry V.”

 

“No, I’m sure it was Henry VIII.”

 

“Your argument is very compelling, but how about this: it’s Henry V.”

 

“ _Eighth_.”

 

“ _Fifth_ -“

 

“Young Keith and Lance!” Coran beamed, clapping his hands on both of their shoulders, which made both jump in their seats. “What seems to be the trouble here?”

 

“Keith and I were just having a friendly argument about the name of a king,” Lance gritted through a friendly smile at Coran. Keith raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“What’s the name of the English monarch who divorced and beheaded his wives because they couldn’t produce a male heir, which led to the formation of a new church?” Keith asked, and while Coran wasn’t looking Lance stuck his tongue out at him. Keith flipped him off.

 

Lance glared.

 

Coran twisted his Monopoly mustache. “Ah! See that was King Henry VIII, who was quite the gentlemen, as per say-“

 

Keith stares at Lance like it’s the Office.

 

Coran keeps rambling on about how much of a dick King Henry VIII was, but Lance can’t help but not listen. Keith was looking directly at him, and what looks to be a ghost of a smirk is edged on his face, making Lance feel very heated. He could feel the embarrassment rise up in his face when Keith smugly goes back to their presentation and replace V with VIII, typing in the slowest way possible.

 

Lance spends the rest of the period not talking, which was unusual for him, since his voice was usually the one thing that filled up a room.

 

Another thing Lance absolutely loathed about Keith Kogane (which he learned by looking at the presentation names) was that, to everyone’s displeasure, was actually, really, really good at football. He was incredible at it. Every play Shiro had given him was perfected at first try. He expertly dodged every person who tried to take the ball from him. Keith wasn’t just fast; he was adaptive on the field, strong as a rock, and his natural instincts were always correct.

 

Mock games used to be fun. They were a huge test of people’s skills against others who knew them well, and usually included a betting pool of which team would win. It was a refreshing break during practice, which usually meant grueling workouts. However, fun took an entirely new definition when Keith was playing, because suddenly everything became intense.

 

Keith was freakishly scary when playing mock games, especially when they were on opposing teams. Lance has been trying to figure out Keith’s pattern, how Keith moves and what his go to plays are. But he’s a riddle. Sometimes it looks like he’s dancing on the field, and sometimes it looks like he’s running a marathon. He never starts the same twice, and his moves are unpredictable but smart. The only downside to this was that Keith was so unpredictable that sometimes, his teammates had no idea what to do.

 

One fatal flaw Keith seemed to have was that he was a one man machine. A ball hog, to put it simply. He could probably win a game by himself if he tried hard enough, but this wasn’t a one man sport. And Lance was planning to fully exploit that weakness.

 

Keith was on the red team, and Lance was on the blue. They sported jerseys according to their team, and both were captains for their team. Lance was using this opportunity to show Shiro that he was deserving of the quarterback spot, and that Keith wasn’t all that Shiro said he was.

 

(Keith was, in fact, everything he said and more, but Lance wanted to prove that he was that too. Maybe even better.)

 

“Get ready,” Shiro called out through a megaphone from the stands.  “On the count of three, we start. One, two…”

 

The familiar sound of the whistle blew through the air, and everyone was moving. The ball was thrown backwards and forwards, and in a split second, Keith was already moving down the field, ready to throw at the wide receiver. As much as Lance tried to despise him, he was admittedly good at what he does.

 

Lance considered his situation. Keith was the indisputable MVP on his team, making him the biggest threat. However, a team was as good as its weakest link. There were many players on Keith’s team who weren’t used to their positions, and were awkwardly running around, making it obvious they didn’t know what they were doing. Bandor was on the red team and currently the designated wide receiver, meaning that he needed people chasing after him, and Bandor wasn’t the fastest runner against three guys. Defense wasn’t Lance’s forte, but he could work with it, especially when he had the biggest, toughest dudes on his team, like Dak. Dak was a force to be reckoned with.

 

His teammates were already gaining on Bandor, who already had a few yards down. They tackle the poor boy, who looks squished to the point of a pancake. They luckily got to him so they weren’t close enough to kick it to the field goal or near the end zone, so someone could easily tackle him before he gets to the end zone.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bandor swore, rubbing the back of his neck. Dak hit him in the shoulder and he yelped.

 

They get back into position, and Keith is staring daggers into Lance. He shivers involuntarily. Keith is pretty intimidating when he wants to be, he could admit.

 

Keith’s undershirt (which was, unsurprisingly, black) was cast aside somewhere else, exposing his chest. He was pretty ripped, with a six pack and all, and he had really nice biceps. His hands were on his knees, and he was panting, determination spread across his face. Sweat was dripping from his neck and it made him kind of glow. Was it weird looking at Keith like this? He was pretty much just stating facts, there was nothing unusual about sizing up the competition.

 

Except his mind flashes back to what happened last summer, and he feels his mouth go dry as the whistle blows.

 

Shit. Everyone was already moving and Lance was still. He immediately regained himself and started moving down the field, signaling Dak to take down Bandor after Keith throws the ball.

 

Keith was backing up now, aiming for Bandor with everything he’s got. He looked tired, exhausted, even, but Lance knew better than to underestimate him.

 

In the past week that Lance knew Keith, he’s known the bare minimum. That Keith is passive aggressive and has a very obvious temper he’s trying to suppress half of the time. Keith wears black most of the time (Lance usually scoffs that MCR died a long time ago when they have to sit near each other in English, while Keith tells him to fuck off), and sometimes red. Which also happened to be Garrison High School’s colors. He’s oddly close to Shiro, which he has a conspiracy theory on. And that he’s good at football.

 

So he’s really curious as to why the moment he turned his back from Keith and someone yelled, “Stop staring at his ass!”, Keith stumbled on his own two feet and got tackled in the process.

 

Shiro blew the whistle, and ran to the field. Shiro didn’t run when someone else got illegally tackled, Lance noted dryly.

 

“Quarterback tackles are _prohibited_ ,” Shiro chided, as he held out his metal prosthetic hand to help Keith up. Lance also made a mental note that Shiro never used his prosthetic arm to touch anyone, ever. Not in the years he knew him. This fueled his conspiracy theory even more. “You all have to be more careful. I know this might be our day off from conditioning but the first game of the season is tomorrow.”

 

“Already?” Rax, a senior defensive lineman, groans.

 

“Yeah,” Shiro confirms. His attention is turned to Keith, who rubbing a spot on his head. “And Keith, be more careful next time. What got into you?”

 

Keith grumbled something incoherent, and Shiro visably grimaces. The plot thickens.

 

“I’m going to end practice early today,” Shiro decided, yawning. “I fell asleep wrong last night so I feel a little busted, and there’s not much we could do here anyway. You’re all dismissed.”

 

All the players left to the locker rooms immediately, chatter immediately erupting as Shiro walked the other way. He could hear Dak snickering with another offensive lineman, Ranveig, about something that Lance couldn’t understand. His arms felt heavy and sore, and he could tell that he had a lot of knots in his back once he got home. Lance went over the bleachers to pack up his his duffle bag, and he tosses his dirty shirt over his head and throws it into his bag. He’s packing his empty water bottle and knee pads when he notices Keith was on the bench over, doing the exact same thing.

 

It was sunset, so it made Keith look glowy. Like how Instagram models described themselves during sunset. The hair that was long enough was pulled back into a ponytail, and his shirt was sling over his shoulder. Lance thinks that maybe if Keith didn’t always look like he wanted to stab a person, he would be almost as attractive as the girls in his class say he is. Almost

 

His eyes linger over the impending bruise that would develop on Keith’s forehead, and how he would wince slightly everytime he moved too fast. Then his eyes lingered down to Keith’s torso, and his eyes slightly widened in horror at the sight of old burn marks.

 

Keith notices that Lance is staring, and he slightly hunched his shoulders, suddenly looking self-conscious. “ _What_ ,” Keith demanded.

 

Lance feels his face flush from being caught staring. He smirked, to hide the fact that he was ogling at his scars. “Just like remembering how stupid you looked when you fell on top of your ass.”

 

Keith’s face turned red in embarrassment, and he looked away from him, going back to packing his items. He shoved a black long sleeve over his head, angrily, and Lance felt shame creep up his face. He was blatantly staring at his abs- no his scars, something that was probably personal or something he felt insecure about. Lance could relate, he had a pretty big surgery scar on his chest from when he had to get open heart surgery when he was younger. He remembers being too embarrassed to take off his shirt throughout middle school.

 

He noticed how Keih was still absentmindedly rubbing his forehead, and a surge of pity overwhelmed him.

 

“Hey, man,” Lance said softly, and he’s surprised how gentle it came out. “That looks pretty bad. I could grab some ice-“

 

“No,” Keith seethed, and Lance felt his heart drop. Keith shoved the last of his belongings into his duffle bag and zipped it aggressively.

 

“Fuck off,” he spat, before getting up and stomping the other direction.

 

Lance watched as Keith stormed off, the wind blowing through his hair. His own eyebrows were scrunched in confusion (was Keith’s scowl contagious? Lance feels like he’s been doing that lately) at Keith’s harsh words. Literally, what the fuck? He was trying to be nice and civil like a good teammate.

 

Lance has a whole list of things of things that he hates about Keith. From the way he casually says that he doesn’t use face wash like a heathen, or the way his taps his pencil at a godly rate when he’s concentrating. He has a whole list of shit qualities he thinks Keith has, and how to fix them.

 

But as Keith gets into his car and drives away, Lance can’t help but what if Keith had a list about Lance.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Lance is sitting with his friends during lunch only two weeks later. He’s currently munching down on a hamburger, but a good one that he convinced Dak to get for him when he decided to skip fourth period to get food.

 

He scrolling through his phone, kind of listen to Bandor’s yapping, kind of not. He was just going over the plans for the night, like he was during break. There’s a few people that joined them, including Luxia, who’s back is leaned against his arm, and she’s playing a phone game that’s she killing. Lance didn’t feel bothered to ask to to move, because she wouldn’t have anyway. What made Lance feel bothered was the fact that Rolo and Nyma decided to join them today.

 

Nyma and Rolo have had an on and off again relationship since the beginning of freshmen year. Sometimes they were goals, always holding hands and giggling by themselves in the hallways. Other times they were just friends, and when people would ask them if they were dating while they’re out eating food they would both just have stared at them blankly.

 

“So tonight we’re going to meet up by Sal’s Diner at around six, then Dak’s going to drive us to the movies,” Bandor explains, also chewing his own burger.

 

Lance nods, to indicate that he’s listening. “So, what are we watching?”

 

Nyma takes a sip of her soda, Rolo’s arm around her shoulder. “It’s basically an old power ranger rip off about people forming a giant robot to defeat a purple alien overlord. It was made in the eighties, so tickets were cheap.”

 

Lance took a quick glance at Nyma. She was blonde, and had really nice straight hair too. Her eyes were hazel and she was one of the most attractive people in school he’s ever met. She did cheer and was in the Robotics team, so he couldn’t help but wonder why she was dating Rolo. Maybe she just had bad taste in guys. Lance and her did go on a date during freshman year during one of their breaks. The date ended up with her stealing his wallet and his bike, leaving him stranded at the back of a Denny’s twenty minutes away from his house. When he found her at her house hours later, she was crying about Rolo and she gave him back his stuff. It was strange, but not the worst date of his life.

 

It was weird that most of his female friends he had A) flirted with, B) dated, or C) all of the above. Curse him and his irresistible charm.

 

“I just heard that Lotor himself used to really like the movie,” Bandor shrugged taking a sip of his soda. “He raves about it on Twitter.”

 

“You worship the ground that Lotor stands on,” Luxia snorted, getting to level 273 on her game. “Seriously, when are you going to realize that rich sleazeball is nothing but a leech?”

 

“I just think he’s cool and all,” Bandor mutters, looking down at his half-eaten burger. “I mean, he’s got so much money to make whatever the hell he wants, and he apparently hates his dad, which we can all relate to. Plus he treats his workers good, he probably isn’t all that bad!”

 

“Sure,” Luxia grinned, looking at a bashful Bandor. “Whatever you say, kiddo.”

 

Lance, admittedly, stopped listening to their conversation halfway through, when he saw a familiar mop of black hair walk into the quad. His eyes instantly perked up.

 

Keith and Lance have not been on the greatest speaking terms lately, or even speaking at all. In English, they don’t even look at each other, and are scooted to the far ends of their respective sides, careful not to touch one another. The only time they really talk to each other in class is when Ms. Trigel forced them to have a discussion on what they interpreted from the lesson, which usually is Lance giving a brief summary and Keith nodding in agreement. When he walks in during history, he can’t help but not be greeted by Keith’s face, because his desk directly faces the door. It’s worse during practice, because they kind of tip toe their way around each other, which makes the practice seem ten times more intense. If Lance messes up, Keith just sends a cold glare his direction and he shoots one back, and it starts all over again. Even in the hallways, they snarl at each other, and it’s become the talk of school about how much Keith and Lance loathed each other.

 

It’s really hard to have a functioning team when the quarterback and wide receiver don’t even like each other.

 

It was no surprise to him that not many other people on the team liked Keith that much either. Besides Bandor, who tried to befriend everyone and interacted with Keith a handful of times, no one really tried to talk to him. If someone tried, Keith would just glare at them and they would be heading the other direction. Most of the guys in the locker room would just talk about how dumb Keith’s hair looked and made emo jokes about him. Lance usually feels bad that they were talking about Keith behind his back, but then again, he agreed with most of what they were saying.

 

The first two games of the season had been won by Arusia High School. Although victory was sweet, he felt like they were winning by default and not because of top performance, which bothered him. The first two games, he didn’t really feel like he was a needed member of the team. It felt more like he was just another asset Keith had to win the game. Despite winning, Lance liked the rush of a stretched out, long game, instead of winning as quickly as possible, which was Keith’s go-to plan.

 

Lance’s eyes followed Keith curiously. Where did the raven-haired boy sit during lunch?

 

He was surprised to find out that he sat down next to a familiar brown haired, glasses sporting freshman and the buff, friendly giant that was Hunk Garrett.

 

Rolo eyes Lance in curiosity. “Why you staring at the kid genius’ table?”

 

Lance rolled his eyes, pretending like he wasn’t just looking at Keith’s table for a good minute. “Keith is _not_ a genius.”

 

“No, you walnut,” Nyma giggled, removing Rolo’s arm from her shoulder, and he gives her a fake pout. “He’s talking about the short one. The freshman. She’s like, MIT level genius, and is already taking three AP classes.”

 

Lance’s gazes at Pidge, who was currently laughing at something Hunk said. He can’t make out Keith’s face. “How’d you know that.”

 

Rolo looks at him incredulously. “Dude, how could you not know? That’s Katie Holt, Matt Holt’s sister.”

 

Lance’s eyes widen. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

 

Matthew Holt was pretty much famous in their school, almost as famous as Lotor. He was a different level of smart, Arusia’s very own Einstein, graduating with a perfect GPA and getting a full ride to Stanford. He apparently only stayed there for a while, because then he transferred all the way to Maryland to learn at a military school or some other shit, with his equally smart father, Samuel Holt, who worked in NASA. Everyone told Lance that Matt was looking to become an astronaut one day.

 

Now it all made sense. No wonder Pidge looked so unsettlingly familiar, she looked like a carbon copy of her brother. Lance decides that this is a new level of stupid for him.

 

“Her brother and dad are still in Maryland,” Rolo continues. “No one knows why her mom and her moved all the way back. Some say they got quietly divorced, but I doubt that.”

 

Nyma and Luxia were both also staring at the table, suddenly intrigued with gossiping about other people. “Hey, Lance?” Luxia asks. “Why’d Hunk not try out this year?”

 

Lance shrugs. “Beats me. Said he wanted to focus on school or some shit like that.”

 

Hunk used to be on the football team in previous years. He was an incredible defensive lineman, could never be moved, and could tackle someone effortlessly. It was a shame that he didn’t try out this year. Lance didn’t really talk to Hunk when they were still on a team together, they never hung out in the same social circle and were never forced to make conversation with each other. They were friendly, but not friends. Lance heard from Ezor that Hunk quit because he was taking summer college classes for his major in engineering.

 

“Has he always hung out with the STEM kids?” Nyma wondered, placing her chin on her hand.

 

“Pretty much,” Lance replied, stuffing down his burger. “That’s why we never really talked before.”

 

As much as Lance hated to admit it, social cliques were still very prominent at school. Although not as enforced as they might used to be, Lance, honestly, had never really hung out with anyone outside his social circle. They weren’t just some typical 90’s high school movie trope, they kind of did control who and where he hung out. For example, he never hangs out in the library, because none of his friends do.

 

Luxia sighed, also putting a hand on her cheek. “Keith is so hot. Have you seen his jawline? That shit could cut diamonds.”

 

“And his _eyes_ ,” Nyma coos. Bandor and Lance stare at each other, dead inside. “I heard they’re purple. Do you think he wears contacts?”

 

Luxia sighs dreamily. “No, they’re too realistic to be contacts.”

 

They continue ogling Keith for a hot minute. He grimaces. People really do think Keith is that hot, huh? He’s not bad-looking, but could really work on the personality department. Lance turns his gaze to Rolo, expecting him to be pissed off that his girlfriend was eyeing down another dude. Instead, Rolo just looks bored, scrolling through his phone, not a sign of anger present in his face. Their eyes meet, and Lance immediately looks away.

 

Lance, out of the corner of his eye, sees a girl walk up to Keith. She’s pretty, and has long, brown hair. She’s confident with the way she moved towards him, and everyone knew what she was about to do. She sat next to Keith, flirting, making small talk. Keith, on the other hand, looked annoyed, and told her something bluntly. Her eyes widened, and she stormed off, angry.

 

“He’s so gorgeous,” Nyma gushed, taking a sip of her soda, half empty. “Too bad he’s, you know…”

 

Nyma and Luxia look at each other, then start giggling uncontrollably. Bandor and Rolo looked like they’re exhausted with their shenanigans, and Lance is just really confused. What is he? Annoying? Bad-tempered?

 

Everyone was looking at their table now, glaring daggers at the two girls who were laughing and snorting. Bandor started laughing at the girl’s hilarious snort-laughing, and even Rolo was chuckling at his girlfriend’s snorting. Lance had no idea what was funny or what was going on, but he could appreciate Luxia and Nyma for giving him something funny to post on his Snapchat story.

 

Lance ignored the burning glares that Keith sent his way.

 

After school, Lance went straight home, giving Shiro some bullshit excuse that he had a pounding headache and couldn’t go to practice. It was half-true. He couldn’t bear to listen to his math teacher yap about some equation he was supposed to memorize by the end of the week, and he didn’t want to deal with Dak asking him how to do a problem five thousand times.

 

The bus, luckily, had only a few passengers. The radio that was playing lulled in the background while Lance stared out the window. It was a Tuesday, meaning that most people were still at school for detention, tutoring, clubs, or practices. Lance liked it when there were less people on the bus, because most of the time, the constant chatter from his schoolmates give him an actual headache. When it was just him in the back of the bus, he didn’t have to care about what people were saying, or processing the constant information Ezor gave him. He could just sit down with a pair of earphones and relax.

 

It finally arrived at Lance’s stop, a bit earlier than it usually does. Lance gets up and thanks the bus driver, who grunts at him in response. When he looks around, there’s no sign of Pidge. She was a mini genius, she was probably in robotics club or busy getting a scholarship.

 

The sky was a bit cloudy, but the weather app on his phone said it would most likely clear before sunset. He liked walking home when no one was outside, which was quite dangerous, but it’s quiet.

 

Lance is a person of noise. He likes to talk, and when he talks, he talks a lot. He could talk to anyone he wanted, for as long as he wanted. Lance likes creating noise, and he likes rambling, even if it annoys his nephew and mom to no end. Ever since most of his siblings moved out of the house, it was always quiet around the house. He could tell that the silence was starting to bother his mom, who looked slightly sad everytime she got home for work. So, he bought an old radio from the flea market, and filled the house with her favorite songs when she got home. The television was on most of the time, even if no one was watching. He made sure to stay in the living room more often instead of his room.

 

But, in moments like this, Lance got sick of noise.

 

When he opened his front door, he was surprised that the radio was already on when he got home. It was playing an old hispanic song that his mom loved deeply. The smell of freshly cooked food filled his nostrils.

 

His mom when in the kitchen, cooking, when he finally got inside. She was humming and dancing to the tune, adding more seasoning on whatever she was cooking.

 

“Mom!” he yelled over the music, and she whipped her head around, startled. “I didn’t know you were home early.”

 

She rushed to the radio and turned down the volume, and hugged her son, who whined.

 

“Shush,” she huffs, squeezing him tighter. “Your first instinct is to complain when I hug you?”

 

His mom ushered him to the table to eat, and Lance didn’t have the heart to tell her that he already ate. She would have forced him to eat anyway. She kissed his forehead before preparing the table for him.

 

If Lance were to describe his mom, it would be angelic. There was no denying that his mom was absolutely beautiful for her age (his friends made some offhand comments about it once and he ‘playfully’ punched all of them in the arm), and she was pretty inside and out. She was short, like, really, really short, and she had long, dark curly hair. Lance believed that the most beautiful women in the world were the ones that raised you in it.

 

His mom was a strong personality. She came to America when she was ten, and struggled speaking broken English in primary school. Nevertheless, by the time she got to high school, she had perfected her English and learned all the slang. His mom graduated with high marks and went to college to become a registered nurse.

 

If someone asked him who was his hero, Blaytz or his mom, he would easily choose the latter.

 

“The hospital let me out early,” she explained as he chowed down his rice. “They said that there weren’t many patients today, so they let a few nurses take a day off. I was thinking we could go shopping later with Izaac.”

 

Lance winced slightly, picking at his food. “I was actually going to go out with friends to the movies today- but I can cancel if you want.”

 

He really tried to ignore the look of disappointment that flashed over her face, but she still smiled regardless.

 

“It’s okay,” she said, holding his hand. “Go out with your friends. I should be resting on my off day, anyways.”

 

He furrowed his eyebrows at her. “Are you sure?”

 

“Positive,” she smiles, and he could see the dark circles under her eyes. He makes a mental note to buy her some popcorn before he gets home.

 

A few hours later, his mom decides to drop him off at Sal’s Diner, despite his protests. Sal’s Diner was an old fifties style milkshake diner owned by a guy named, wait for it, Sal. He was a grumpy old man, who wanted to be the next Gordon Ramsay but the only thing he picked up from him was his attitude. Yet his diner was absolutely beautiful. The whole interior had neon lights and the booths were shiny red. The burgers and milkshakes there were famous for being so good. The one thing that made Lance love it even harder was the fact that it was right next to the beach, so you get a perfect view while eating.

 

When they arrived, there were only a few cars in the parking lot, and no sign of Dak and the others. Figures. They were all disasters. If you planned on meeting up at six, you were really going to meet up at six thirty.

 

His mom looked worriedly as Lance started to head out the car. “Are your friends here yet?”

 

Lance shrugged and got his wallet. “They’re always late. Don’t worry, I’ll just order a cheeseburger and wait in the diner.”

 

“Okay, love you,” she said, kissing Lance’s forehead (which he hoped that no one from school saw her do that, or they’d give him shit for weeks). “Stay safe. No drugs. Make good choices.”

 

“No promises!” he waved at her as she scowled at him and drove away.

 

The familiar chime of a bell rung as he opened the door to the diner. He was immediately greeted by the heavenly smell of fries, milkshakes, and burgers, the most deadly combo to Lance’s ever growing appetite. His stomach growled, and he grimaced. He literally ate only about two hours ago, why was he still hungry? He was contemplating actually buying a cheeseburger, because shouldn’t athletes stay in shape?

 

Contemplation was thrown out the window when he saw Sal put out a mouth-watering looking burger on the booth. He could always eat healthy some other day.

 

He decided to order a cheeseburger with a medium vanilla milkshake, as he sits down on the booth, waiting for his friends. Nyma is texting the group chat, asking what pair of jeans she should wear, and Rolo was telling her that it didn’t really matter because they were going to the movies, where no one would see her jeans. Bandor, per usual, was sending memes that had no correlation with the conversation whatsoever.

 

“Lance?” A familiar tiny voice called. He turned to see a familiar face, glasses and all, ushering him to her booth.

 

Pidge was sitting in a booth, wearing a oversized green sweater that made her look like a cactus. Hunk was next to her, hand waving and he was grinning like an old friend. Across from them was a grumpy looking mullet-haired Keith, who crossed his arms and was looking out the window.

 

He grins, and joins them, holding his food. “Hey guys, haven’t seen you two in a while.”

 

His gaze expertly dodges Keith’s who huffs and scoots over for Lance to sit down. Yikes. This kid didn’t know how to hide a grudge, either.

 

“It’s good to see you Lance!” Hunk beams, and Lance swore he was looking into the sun. He forgot how bubbly he could be. “I haven’t seen you since last season.”

 

“It’s good to see you too,” Lance smiles back.

 

“You’ve definitely improved. By the way, the game last week was incredible, how you managed to catch the ball-“

 

“Urgh,” Pidge groaned, slamming her face on the table. “No offense Lance, but can we talk about something else other than football? The past few weeks the whole things been shoved up my face. Like, isn’t there other things to talk about? Like the impending end of the world or kinks.”

 

Hunk made a scandalized noise. Keith wrinkled his nose in disgust.

 

“P-Pidge!” Hunk chokes on his milkshake, and she pays his back apologetically. “No one wants to talk about-“

 

“My favorite kinks are common sense and when putting on warm clothes that just got out of the dryer,” Lance stated bluntly.

 

Pidge snorts. “Big fucking mood.”

 

Hunk looks mortified. “You’re a child, young lady.”

 

She sticks his tongue out at him and Hunk chucks a fry at her. Pidge, in turn, chucks a fry at him, and then they start wrestling. Lance is a bit worried at first, because of the obvious size difference, but when Pidge gets Hunk in a tight headlock and Hunk looks like he’s about to explode, he starts laughing.

 

The entire booth erupts into laughter (maybe except Hunk, because he’s sort of choking and laughing at the same time). Sal is looking at them from the counter, looking exhausted with teenage shenanigans.

 

They talk about some pretty stupid stuff for awhile, like which team they would be on in Captain America: Civil War. Pidge is a firm follower in Team Iron Man, while both Hunk and Lance are Team Cap. The argument switches to whether water was wet, and Lance was convinced that it was, while Pidge was trying to (unsuccessfully) convince Lance that it wasn’t. Then the topic changed to nostalgic things from their childhood, and Lance is horrified to learn that Pidge willingly wears crocs unironically. And not just any crocs, no, bright green ones with flower stickers on them. He almost dies when she sticks her feet onto the table, to reveal the ugliest pairs of sandals his eyes had ever laid eyes on.

 

“Dude, those are so fucking ugly,” Lance gaped. “And you’re feet are hella tiny too.”

 

He steals one croc. When Pidge dives for it, he passes it to Hunk, then back to Lance, until they’re playing a pretty solid game of monkey in the middle. She was whining, complaining about short people oppression, while Hunk and Lance just laughed at her. When she finally almost catches the shoe, Lance uses his quick thinking to grab it and throw it to the next closest person to him, which was Keith.

 

Unfortunately, his calculations came out incorrect, because instead of catching it, the croc hits Keith’s forehead, dead center. Then everyone starts laughing again, and Pidge is still without one shoe.

 

Suddenly Pidge stops laughing, and looks directly at the person next to Lance.

 

“Keith, you haven’t been talking all evening,” Pidge worried, eyebrows knitted together. “You haven’t even finished your burger.”

 

“‘m fine,” Keith assures, but by the way his arms are crossed across his chest and his downturned face, he didn’t look fine.

 

Lance felt disappointment rise up to his chest. He was having a good time, talking to Hunk for the first time in a while, and Pidge. But it was blatantly obvious that Keith didn’t want him there. Why would he? Everytime they talk or do so much as look at each other, it ends in bitterness and anger and making Lance want to rip his hair out.

 

“Maybe I should leave-“ he starts before getting up, but Keith’s hand stops him, and he pauses.

 

“Contrary to your popular belief,” Keith snaps, but his eyebrows were less furrowed, and his face was softened from its usual harsh anger. “My life doesn’t always revolve around you. I’m thinking about the game on Friday.”

 

Both Pidge and Hunk look at Keith and Lance quizzically, as if they were missing something. Lance scowled and sat back down, drinking his milkshake unceremoniously. “Are you actually scared about the rivalry game? We beat them every year.”

 

That Friday was the rivalry football game between Arusia and their arch-nemesis, Daibazaal High School. If Arusia was filled with stuck-up snotty kids, Daibazaal was filled with rich stuck-up snotty kids. Lance didn’t really see the point of school rivalries, they had no history of beefing with the other school, but the rivalry game was one of the most fun ones, because most of the school showed up, and it was ten times more satisfying beating Daibazaal every year when there was a crowd.

 

Keith rubbed at his temples. “I know, it’s just that… Shiro said that there were going to be college recruiters there, maybe even NFL drafters.”

 

Lance chokes on his milkshake.

 

“Lance! Are you okay?” Hunk worries, that absolute sweetheart, and pats his back. He was choking on one of the bright red cherries.

 

“Are you fucking _serious_?” Lance sputters, looking at Keith with wide eyes. “College recruiters are coming to the game tomorrow? For real? Why the hell are NFL drafters coming if we have to be out of high school for at least another three years? Why the fuck didn’t Shiro tell us? How come he only told you?”

 

Keith looked at Lance boredly. “I have no fucking clue. My brother said something about how we would perform better if we didn’t know or some shit like that.”

 

“Shiro’s your _brother_?!” Lance groans into his hands. He buries his face into his arms, and Hunk pats his back soothingly. “Why do I keep on having life changing revelations every five seconds?”

 

“I don’t know, why are you so dense?” Keith deadpanned.

 

“Watch it,” Lance glared through his hands.

 

He looked down at his lap and had a silent mini mental breakdown. Lance really hasn’t expected this day to come so soon, he’s been hoping it would come during senior year. Real college recruiters were coming to watch their team, and were considering choosing one of their players. Keith was obviously someone that was going to be on their watchlist for sure, but if Lance gave a good enough performance, they would surely being watching him too. Crap, he literally only had three days to prepare.

 

“I think you broke him,” Pidge said, poking Lance’s head. He groaned in response.

 

He lifted his head to face Keith. “Thank you for telling me ahead of time. At least I can get extra practice in before the game.”

 

Lance, as bleary as his eyes felt, saw a sudden shift in Keith’s demeanor. If it was anyone else, they might’ve not noticed it, but Lance could make out Keith’s expression from down there. His eyes weren’t furrowed together, and they were relaxed, way more relaxed than Lance had ever seen previously. His eyes widened, and in the sunlight his eyes shone like an amethyst. In that moment, Lance knew his theory was correct; Keith really did look more attractive when he wasn’t angry. No wonder Nyma and Luxia gushed about him so much.

 

Keith blinks at him, stunned. “I-“

 

“McClain!” Suddenly, the diner door is slammed open, and Lance immediately jumped in his seat. The other looked spooked as well. The familiar loud and gruff voice that belonged to a certain quarterback rung through his ears, “What the hell are you doing here with them.”

 

Dak stalked toward their table, and Lance glared at him, irritated. “Fuck, dude, instead of making a scene, you could’ve just called like a normal fucking person!”

 

The taller boy seethed, and picked up Lance’s phone. He opened it to reveal five missed calls from him. He feels his face pale slightly, but says nothing. “I did. The movie’s starting in five minutes, hurry the fuck up before I leave you here.”

 

Dak storms out of the diner, the familiar ringing of a bell echoing. Sal looks completely done and storms into his own kitchen, muttering something about how obnoxious the youth were. Keith, Lance, Pidge, and Hunk sit there for a couple of seconds, dumbfounded.

 

“I... “ Lance blinks. “I guess I’ll be going now.”

 

“So you don’t have to be seen hanging out with nerds?” Pidge asks dryly, and Lance winced.

 

“Don’t say that about yourself. And Dak isn’t usually that rude,” Lance defends, and it’s Keith’s turn to look at him with a deadpan stare. “Scratch that, he is, but he’s a lot more tolerable the more time you spend with him.”

 

“Sure he is,” she said sarcastically, and she gets up, picking up her bag. “We were just going to leave now anyways, it’s getting pretty late anyway.”

 

Keith turns, to Pidge, confused. “We are?”

 

“Yes,” she grits through her teeth. “Let’s go.”

 

They all head out the door, and Lance swears he hears Sal grunt a small ‘finally’ under his breath. The sunset is beautiful, he thinks. The sky was painted an ashier baby blue and pink, and the center held the most yellow. The clouds were directly in front of the sun, making them look heavenly, like they were painted by Renaissance artists. Under the sunset was the beach, where kids were playing in the sand. The water reflected the pinks and the blues, making the area glow.

 

It was too beautiful a day to deal with Dak’s bullshit.

 

Hunk was already starting up his blue pickup truck, Pidge and Keith hopping in the backseat. Lance heads towards the red convertible.

 

Dak’s new red convertible screamed his father’s money, but Lance wasn’t complaining, because it was a really badass looking car to drive around school. However, the passengers riding it were less presentable. It was mostly Dak’s immediate friends, people Lance didn’t like to associate with. All they did was cause trouble and make everyone uncomfortable.

 

They weren’t even sitting on the seats, but sitting on top of the trunk, dirty shoes on the seats. Lance recognized kids like Throk and Lahn, who spent more time in detention than in actual school.

 

“Where’s Bandor and the others?” Lance frowned, not seeing one sign of Nyma, Rolo, Luxia, or Bandor in the car. He was a little scared to sit next to Lahn, who he heard carries a knife around school. In fact, he’s heard most of them carried knives or other prohibited things.

 

“They’re already at the movie theater,” Dak grumbled, hopping into the driver’s seat. “waiting for you while you were busy canoodling with the STEM kids.”

 

“I was here the whole fucking time,” Lance reiterated, hopping into the back seats, and sitting on the trunk of the car. “and they’re not even in STEM.”

 

“No,” Dak said, revving up the engine loudly. Everyone in the car whoops. “but they all are on the same branch. A bunch of fucking losers that think they’re better than everyone because they’re smart and think they’re better than everyone, but they fucking suck at social interaction.”

 

Lance knits his eyebrows together. “Hey-“

 

“Especially Hot Topic over there,” Dak nods at Keith, who’s sitting in the backseat while Pidge and Hunk are arguing over the radio. “Fucking Christ, what a waste of potential. Every girl wants to get at him but he curves every single one of them because he curves a _different_ way.”

 

Throw was snickering, and Lance never wanted to punch someone in the face more in his life. He grumbles and crosses his arms, he feels wildly uncomfortable. “Can we just go now? We’re gonna miss the movie.”

 

“Quit yapping, I’m driving,” Dak said, as he starts driving, and Lance quietly mocks his words from the back of the car. Throk growls at him and he just glared back.

 

Dak drives backwards out of the parking spot. Lance is expecting him to take the exit, you know, right _next_ to them, but instead does a three sixty to the exit on the farther side of the parking lot.

 

Lance frowns. “What are you doing-“

 

Dak accelerates at what felt like 150 miles per hour in nine seconds, and Lance almost fell off of the car, before grabbing the front seat for support.  When Lance gets his eye coordination back in order, he sees that Dak is parked in front of what looks like Hunk’s pick up truck before he could get out. The said driver honks loudly, and Dak and his friends were just cackling like a bunch of witches. Seriously, what was up with these people?

 

Keith’s head popped out of the window, seething. “Can you guys just fucking move already?”

 

“Nah,” Throk laughs, and his voice sounds just as slimy as he looked. “We’re fine.”

 

Hunk is continuously beeping the horn, and Lance could hear Pidge swearing in the passenger's seat, at both Keith and the driver. Lance has no idea what’s going on.

 

“Move,” Keith growls. “Or I’ll haul your ass out myself.”

 

“C’mon, man,” Lance interjected. “It’s not funny anymore. Let’s _go_.”

 

But Dak isn’t listening to him anymore, if he ever did, and he’s just chuckling with his friends while Keith flipped them off. Lance makes a mental note to never, ever hitch a ride with Dak again, even if he offered it. Dak’s car, although beautiful, should only be used for Lance’s personal Postmates.

 

“I’d like to see you try, fruitcake,” Dak sneers, and the cackling from the band of boys intensifies.

 

Keith’s eyes widen, and Lance could hear Pidge’s swearing turned into a loud ‘ _what the_ fuck _did he just say to you_ ’? Lance is turning to everyone, from Dak, to Keith, he’ll, even to his goons in incredible bewilderment. What the fuck was going on? Why would Dak call him a dessert?

 

Before he could process his thoughts, Keith is rolling up the windows quickly, before kicking open the door and stepping outside. He’s pissed, by the look on his face, and his sleeves are rolled up. Lance swallows.

 

Keith was ready to fight.

 

The car immediately jerks forward, and Lance swears that he almost peed and fell off the car again. Yet again, he holds on to the white leather front seat before his entire body flies out the convertible. Dak swivels out of the parking lot, and before he knew it, they were already driving down the road.

 

Lance could hear Keith’s, “Come back and fight me, asshats!” in the distance, but he couldn’t tell if it was his imagination or not. He felt dizzy.

 

But when he sees Dak’s goons flip Keith off and stick their tongues out at Sal’s Diner, Lance feels a new wave of a headache. Did they have anything to do besides being Sendak’s personal ad-libs?

 

“Are you insane?” Lance spluttered. “You almost fucking ran him over!”

 

Dak stops his incoherent chuckling, and glowers at Lance through the rear-view mirror

 

“You over-dramatic _ass_ ,” Dak snapped, speeding up. Lance feels sick, the combo of burgers and milkshakes with the trauma his head has been going through probably not healthy. “He was out of the way before I even hit the gas pedal. What a prideful piece of shit, I’ve been waiting to say that, but Shiro was always there babysitting him.”

 

Lance grumbles, “What did you even say to him?”

 

He thinks of the word, in all his confusion. _Fruitcake_ , was what Dak spat out. He’s had it in the past, at a wedding. All of his cousins hated it, but he secretly enjoyed it. Dak was getting really uncreative with these nicknames.

 

Then Dak laughs, and it’s Lance’s equivalent of the sound of nails scratching on a chalkboard. He laughs are dry, with no humour or happiness behind them.

 

“Lance, you can’t be this stupid,” Dak retorts flatly, and Lance’s frown deepens.

 

He reminds himself, again, never to hitch a ride from Dak ever again.

 

Pidge texts him later that night, when the movie’s done and over with, and he’s laying in bed.

 

**Tuesday** 8:46 PM

 

**Pidgeon** :

not to dictate your life or anything, but you need better friends.

 

He leaves her on read.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Today’s the day, and Lance’s palms are sweating.

 

He’s been nervous ever since he woke up, honestly. His mom looked at him worriedly as he practically inhaled his breakfast and almost choked, and even Izaac looked perturbed when he commented on Lance’s mismatching shoes. He had been distracted in class that Coran had to repeat his question to Lance about three times before he finally caught his attention, making his classmates stare at him in curiosity.

 

Lance had been telling himself he shouldn’t be scared, because come on, he was _Lance_. Not to toot his own horn or anything, but he was one of the most valuable players on the team. Even if Keith hogged the spotlight most of the time, he couldn’t do shit if he didn’t have an equally skilled person to catch the ball. He was aware that he was the bomb dot com. And even despite that, Lance had been training. Hard. He pushed himself to the limit during the three practices, worrying Shiro (who thankfully, told the rest of he team about the recruiter situation). Out of practice, he was either at the gym or at work, but when he was at the gym, he pushed himself as well, to the point where he was exhausted when he got home.

 

For the majority of the day, Lance was trying to convince himself that he was the shit, and there was no reason he should be worried. But he couldn’t stop the nervousness creeping up on him.

 

Even during lunch, while Lance was jittering to himself, everyone noticed. Dak grunted, “Can you stop fuckin’ mumbling to yourself, it makes you look like a creep.”

 

Yeah. It was a bit of an understatement to say that he was a bit nervous.

 

Practice had just ended early, and from the jitters in the locker room, everyone was nervous as well. They had all begged Shiro to let them practice a little before the game started so they could be in best shape, which he reluctantly agreed to.

 

Everyone was talking about different things at once. Some were chatting excitedly about the game, and how pumped they were to beat Daibazaal for the fifth year in a row. Others were less excited, because they were having very important people spectating in the background. Lance could relate too. After all, his mom and his nephew were going to be there as well.

 

Lance didn’t feel like making conversation with anyone, so he decided he would hit the showers. He wanted to look and feel refreshed before the game, and the dirt on his face and legs were not helping.

 

The showers, thankfully, had stalls, so he didn’t have to worry about people walking into him. He throws his towel over the door and turns on the shower, and he was grateful that it was warm water.

 

As the water hit his skin and he started to shampoo his hair, he thought about a flurry of things. What if they didn’t think he was good enough? Even if he was skilled, there were surely players who were better than him by tenfold. Would they leave disappointed, bitter that they wasted their time at a high school football game. Or even worse, would Lance miss his opportunity to prove himself? It was a well known fact that they usually looked into quarterbacks more than any other player, and Keith was already a force to be reckoned with.

 

He sighed as he flipped the shower off. No use wasting his time thinking about this now.

 

Lance walked back to find that the locker room was empty, no trace of anyone. He shrugs. He’s notorious for taking long showers, but he guessed that everyone was so excited that they early. Fine by him, at least he had the locker room all to himself.

 

He wrapped his towel lowly around his waist as he opens the combination to his locker. Lance left his clothes there so they wouldn’t be accidentally wet if he took them into the shower room. Once open, he checks himself in the mirror that he attached to his locker, and to his displeasure, finds a pimple on his chin overstaying its stay. He turns his head to the side a bit to get a better look at it, and then his eyes lock with a certain black-haired boy in the mirror.

 

Lance, in the highest pitch, screams.

 

“Woah!” Keith jolts, hands up in surrender. “It’s just me.”

 

“Jesus _fucking_ christ-“ Lance swears as his towel unattached itself and he picks it up before it could show too much. He fumbles and in the midst of almost tripping, he grabs onto his bag, and all his clothes fall out. “Do you mind?!”

 

Keith is wide eyed, and there’s a hint of a flush on his face. His expression is one that Lance can’t read.

 

“I-I,” Keith stammered, as Lance recollected himself and his items.

 

Then Keith breathes out slowly, and meets Lance with a determined gaze. “No, actually, I need to talk _now_.”

 

“Seriously?!” Lance exasperates. “I’m kind of busy here, if you haven’t noticed!”

 

Keith gives Lance a deadpan of a stare, and crosses his arms in Lance’s way. His posture screamed intentness, and it didn’t look like he was moving anytime soon. Lance feels himself slump in defeat.

 

Lance huffed irritatedly, “Hurry up then.”

 

The raven-haired boy eyes widen, as if expecting Lance to argue more. In truth, if Lance wasn’t already dealing with a bunch of shit at the moment, he would have. Keith suddenly looks a little bashful, and Lance feels his squint at Keith turn accusatory. What was he planning?

 

“...what’s your problem with me?” he finally manages out, after a few seconds of contemplation.

 

Lance blinks. “What?”

 

“Why do you hate me?” Keith asks flatly, and his posture becomes more confident.

 

His eyes turn to saucers, and he manages to blurt out: “I don’t hate you!”

 

It’s Keith turn to look confused and stunned. “But you always glare at me in class! And make fun of my hair everyday! You’re so nice to everyone _except_ me, and people go up to me all the time asking what your damage was. Your friends don’t like me either. How the hell am I supposed to think that you don’t!”

 

Lance recalls everything that Keith was saying, and he’s driving a pretty hard argument. Yeah, Keith did take the QB spot from him, had ugly hair, and Lance did glare at the back of his head at class, but those were all petty things. It didn’t mean he hated Keith, hate was a strong word.

 

“I mean-“ Lance starts. “I do all those things, but it doesn’t mean I hate you! It was mostly because of football, not really about your hair or anything else. It’s just- I thought that we had this rivalry complex going on this whole time, you know?”

 

Keith gapes at him incredulously, then frowns. “So you only disliked me because of football, and not anything else? At all?”

 

“Well, you are also competing with me in girls and academics,” Lance ponders, and Keith snorts. “But other than that, yeah, you're haircut is fucking ugly, but I don’t hate you for it.”

 

Keith has a ghost of a smile on his face, worry completely draining it. “S-So you don’t hate me,” he confirms.

 

“Unless you want me to,” Lance grins, and the scowl crawls back into Keith’s face.

 

“I just wanted to make sure before the game, so there’s no hard feelings,” Keith said. “To clear my head.”

 

Keith starts to pick up his stuff and begins to walk out of the locker room. Before he goes, he turns to Lance.

 

“And Lance?” He says, and any sign of anger or annoyance in his face, and Lance feels his heart stutter a beat. Weird. “Good luck tonight.”

 

He leaves, and Lance is standing there awkwardly. What a weird conversation.

  


The football team runs out into the field, fifteen minutes until the actual game starts.

 

Lance was right, the rivalry game _does_ attract a lot of people. The stadium was filled from the bottom up, the crowd talking amongst themselves eagerly. The stadium was filled to the brim with Arusia’s school colors, royal blue and gold, and it looked beautiful in the sunset. The stadium lights hit his eyes full force, and he quickly looked away before he had a vision whiplash.

 

Iverson Stadium was one of the most beautiful out of all the rivaling schools. It was painted blue and gold and white. The scoreboard was huge, sporting a lion head next to the words Home and Visitor. The grass was freshly cut, the smell of it filling everyone’s nostrils. The goal posts were yellow and freshly cleaned, and the best part about it was the people in the stands, cheering for their school. For him.

 

He’s loves going out on the field.

 

Shiro commands his team to start stretching and warming-up, and everyone complies. When they do their fair share of burpees and push-ups, he lets them take a quick five minute break to kill their nerves. Lance slips away towards the stands, where the cheerleaders were stretching. Nyma said she wanted to talk before the game, and he couldn’t help but feel nervous. She seemed quite adamant about it.

 

He saw the familiar blonde hair walk up to him when she saw him coming, and she pulled him away to a more secluded bench.

 

Once she made sure that no one was listening, she locked eyes with Lance intensely.

 

Was she going to kiss him? He might’ve liked Nyma in the past, but he had no will to be the homewrecker in Rolo and Nyma’s relationship.

 

Instead, she stated bluntly, “Rolo told me what happened at the beginning of summer.”

 

His face paled.

 

Oh. This was the conversation they were having.

 

“I-I,” Lance spluttered, and she narrows her eyes at him.

 

“I’m not mad,” Nyma assured. Lance feels himself deflate a little bit, but he’s still tense. “I just wanted to let you know.”

 

Lance sighs in relief, closing his eyes as she puts a hand on his shoulder. Good, because that would have just added another stack of problems onto his shoulders. Nyma was a good friend to have, and becoming enemies with her was not exactly on his bucket list.

 

He turns to the stands where he sees his classmates and their parents. Some are on their phones, or recording their friends on Snapchat while eating their hotdogs and Nachos. There are some kids with posters for their friends who are on the football team, and he smiles slightly when he sees Pidge and Hunk. Pidge is holding a poster that makes her look fun sized that cheesily says “Keith Kogane: #23 on the field but #1 in our hearts.” He wished someone did that for him.

 

As he scans the field, he locks eyes with his mom and Izaac, who are both frantically waving at him, grins wide. He waves back, and Izaac flips him off, earning him a slap on the back of the head from his mom.

 

He laughs, then realizes Nyma’s still staring at him.

 

“But,” Nyma interjected his thoughts. “I think we have a lot to talk about, don’t you think?”

 

Lance lightly removes her hand from his shoulder, and he scowls.

 

“No, there’s nothing to talk about,” he mumbles.

 

Nyma tried her best to not look irritated, but it seeps through her face. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay-“

 

“And I’m fine,” Lance snaps, and she visibly flinches. His face softens, and he grabs her hand. “Sorry, I-“

 

The screeching noise of a whistle pierces through their ears, and he drops her hand as they both wince in pain. Lance hears his coach’s voice telling them to gather up before he makes them drop and do twenty.

 

“I need to go,” Lance deflected and got up.

 

“I guess I have to go, too,” Nyma shrugs. “Allura will have my head if I’m not back on time. Bye.”

 

He waves back at her, then turns around and hustles towards Shiro with the rest of the team. The sun is already fading, and the stadium lights are getting brighter as the seconds pass. His heart is beating out of his chest.

 

“Okay team, listen up!” Shiro calls out, and he uses his prosthetic arms to adjust his sunglasses. “Today’s a big day. You see those burly guys over there in the nice suits? They’re here to watch you.”

 

Lance feels himself rock back and forth to stop the nerves building up in his chest. Everyone else does as well.

 

“But you know what? Who gives a fuck!” Shiro yells. Everyone looks at each other with wide eyes. That was the first time they ever heard Shiro drop the f-bomb. “It doesn’t matter if there’s recruiters or not, because we are always at one hundred and ten percent! We’re always winning, but the most important thing is that we have fun doing the sport we love. So go out there and make sure to have fun out there, because it reflects on how you play. Lions on three!”

 

They break apart after they do that, and the game commences.

 

The referee flips a coin, and Arusia is on offense, meaning that it’s Lance’s time to shine. They get into position.

 

When he gets into position, something unsettling builds up in his stomach when he realizes that he didn’t recognize the player in front of him. In fact, most of the players from Daibazaal were complete strangers to him. Sure, of course he couldn’t remember every single face from every opponent they challenge, but he remembers most.

 

This was an entirely new team.

 

The whistle blows, and they’re moving.

 

Lance starts moving down the field the moment it happens, barely dodging the opposing team’s players by an inch. God, what were these Daibazaal kids eating? Testosterone infused vitamin gummies?

 

Keith throws the ball in the air, and fuck, did he throw it far. He lets out a short huff of exasperation and he boosts up his running speed in order to catch the ball.

 

Once the ball lands safely in his hands, he’s dashing across the field, two people talking him. The stadium erupted into cheers, and the announcer was having a ball. He grinning ear to ear, because the amount of land he has to get through is shortening quickly.

 

That is, until some guy tackles him, ending his short lived euphoria.

 

The whistle blows and he’s groaning, landing in an awkward position. The Daibazaal football player was the opposite, and he had a crooked smile on his face.

 

Lance furrows his eyebrows as a teammate hoists him up.

 

It continues like that for the first quarter, then the second quarter, then the third. The opposing team obvious main goal is to defend wholeheartedly. They deflect every single person, from Lance to the running back, with ease, and everyone’s getting pissed off. The only way they actually snag points is if they punt it through the goalpost. Halftime was filled with tension, even as the cheerleaders did a peppy routine to ease it.

 

The game was close, each team only off by a few points, and everyone’s nervous. They can’t tell who’s going to win.

 

By the end of the third quarter, they head back to Shiro, who’s frustrated, to say the least.

 

“This isn’t working,” Bandor deadpans, hair sticking to his forehead. “They beat all of our best plays!”

 

Dak grunts, removing his helmet. “When the fresh hell did Daibazaal learn how to play football? Swear they have a new team entirely.”

 

Everyone grumbles in agreement as Lance takes a breather and sits down next to Keith, who also looks beat, chugging down his water. Sweat is dripping down his neck, and Lance can’t help but feel worried if he’s pushing himself to his limits.

 

“I’ve got a play in mind,” Shiro considered, but he’s not so convinced. “But I’m still trying to work it out.”

 

He explains the plan, and it’s an easy one. Keith fakes a pass to confuse the opposing team. Then, he runs parallel to the line of scrimmage, where he hands it off to the running back, who hopefully gets an opening by running between the guard. Then he passes it to Lance, who’s already near the end zone. Boom, touchdown, they win the game, everyone celebrates they go home.

 

Lance is all for the plan, of course. It would look great if they pulled it off, and it was a plan that involved him. That _needed_ him. Honestly, Lance’s  window at getting them to notice him is slimming down, at what better way to get their attention than to bring their team home with a touchdown with two minutes left on the clock?

 

“It’s too obvious what our play is,” Keith interjected, and everyone turns to him.

 

Shiro frowns. “Explain.”

 

“We haven’t played any fakes all night,” he explained, and he was right. Shiro decided that it would be too much of a hassle beforehand, but now their choices are slimming. “They know we’re desperate now, and know it’s only a matter of time before we do it.”

 

“Then what do you suppose we do?” Bandor implores.

 

“Easy,” Keith stated, and Lance is intrigued. “Lance runs behind the line of scrimmage, while I pass the ball to him. The end zone is pretty damn close, so he could either run the whole way or pass it to an open receiver. Daibazaal is pretty keen on keeping its strong defense, so they’ll be busy by the time Lance gets the ball, and when they’re done, he’s already scored a touchdown.”

 

Huh. That was a pretty good plan, but-

 

“It’s too risky,” Shiro argues. “We can’t guarantee that they’ll be sticking to the same strategy all night, which is why pulling a fake will give you time to see what their play is.”

 

“If it’s too risky,” Keith countered, crossing his arms. “And we can’t guarantee it, shouldn’t we stick to the faster option than waiting to see what their play is?”

 

The whole team murmurs in agreement.

 

“We can’t,” Shiro affirms, and he’s made up his mind. “We can’t risk it.”

 

“If we don’t take risks,” Keith exasperated, and throws his hands up in the air. “We’ll never win!”

 

“I agree with Keith’s plan,” Bandor concurs. “It is the easiest and simplest way to get around them.”

 

“But also the dumbest,” Dak shot back, and it earns a glare from Keith, who’s fists are clenched. “They’ll eat Lance up before he even gets a step out of the line. We can’t know.”

 

The team is split up in what looks like a fifty fifty, and Shiro just looks tired. Frustration etched his face, and Lance could tell that something other than football was bothering him when he stared at Keith. Keith looks like he wants to pass out, more than usual.

 

Lance decides to intervene. “You’re plan’s great, Keith, but don’t you think we should not take chances, especially this late in the game?”

 

“The less chances we take, the more likely it is to lose!” Keith yelled.

 

Lance’s patience is running thin. “We fucking can’t afford to lose this Keith! We should stick to a plan that actually guarantees is a win.”

 

“It will work!”

 

“It won’t, get you head out of your ass, Keith!”

 

Keith actually, in real time, snarls at him. Lance fumes, and they’re both getting into each other’s faces. Shiro puts a hand between them before anything drastic happens.

 

“Keith, we’re sticking to my plan,” Shiro decided, voice firm. “We can’t take chances, just like Lance said.”

 

Keith grits his teeth. “But-“

 

“I don’t want to hear it anymore,” Shiro snaps, and it almost sounds like an order. Like a military commander.

 

Keith’s eyes widened, before he scowled and mumbled out ‘fine’. The whistle blows in the distance, indicating that their short break was over.

 

They head back into the field and get into positions. The lights were blinding now, and Lance could feel a massive headache that he was going to get while going to bed later that night. The crowds cheering is dying down, people too tired to react anymore. Lance could see Daibazaal’s faces and their wicked, cold smiles.

 

He hears a loud ‘psst’ and his head whips around.

 

Keith is giving him a look, his eyes signaling to his right hand. Frowning, Lance ‘a eyes trailed down to see his thumbs point left.

 

Oh.

 

Oh, no no no-

 

Lance shakes his head violently, but Keith is insistent, as he points his head to the left even harder. He glared at him, mouthing the words ‘no’ and Keith mouthing ‘yes’ to him, stubbornly.

 

‘Fuck no’ Lance mouths at Keith.

 

‘Just trust me’ he mouths back, determination in his expression, and Lance hates it.

 

Keith is doing a series of gestures that Lance cannot follow for the life of him. Lance is shaking his head harshly, trying to tell Keith he won’t do it, but the more he does, the more stubborn the mullet wearing asshole becomes.

 

Before he could respond, a whistle blows in the background, and the game resumes. Snapping out of his trance, he immediately starts running towards the end zone, following Shiro’s plan. But as he’s almost past the scrimmage line, he see Keith running the opposite.

 

Lance pauses for a good two seconds, flabbergasted. Keith was following his own plan.

 

Fuck.

 

Lance swears loudly as he turns around, much to the confusion of everyone on the field. He running behind and his legs hurt like hell. Bandor is looking at him incredulously.

 

Once he gets around, he’s running down the field, and he’s worn-out already. A million thoughts are running through his head. There’s recruiters on both sides of the field, watching his every move. His mom and Izaac were probably watching him too, and he knows his mom doesn’t know shit about football, so she probably thinks he’s doing good. Everyone’s counting on him now, and it’s because of Keith Kogane.

 

He turns around to check if there’s anyone trailing him, and there’s a ball flying to his face.

 

Lance’s eyes widen before he catches it, barely. It stumbles out of his hands but he catches it regardless.

 

He’s grinning at the crowd as it erupts in cheers, and he’s _happy_. This was it. He was going to score a touchdown, get a scholarship, and save the game. Even with the Keith’s switcher-upper.

 

Victory was short lived when someone tackles him, and his head hits the ground, _hard_.

 

It happens in an instant. His tumbled on the floor, ball flying out of his hand, and he can’t get up. He mouthguard is loose, and he feels himself covered in the disgusting combination of dirt and sweat. Lance is groaning, kind of, and he doesn’t know how long he was on the ground until someone helps him up.

 

It’s Dak, and he doesn’t help him up lightly. He’s angry and pissed, way more than he usually is, and Lance has to shake his grip off of him. He looks at the clock.

 

Two seconds left. Daibazaal was ahead by three points. His hands are shaking, and he could feel the hot tears in his eyes.

 

He looks at Keith, but he can barely see him, because all he sees is _red_. Fiery-hot, scorching, enraging red, and it’s directed at one person. One hot-headed, instinctive, annoying person that plummeted his way into Lance’s life.

 

It didn’t matter if they went back on the field.

 

They lost.

 

* * *

 

 

Once in the locker room, Lance threw his helmet on the floor and headed towards Keith, who was sitting on the bench, looking at the floor, dejected.

 

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” Lance fumed getting in Keith’s face. Keith looked up at Lance, and his face switched from tired and disappointed to annoyed. It wasn’t hard to get Keith riled up, anyone with half a brain knew it.

 

Anyone, _anyone_ else who received the look that Keith gave would have shit their pants. But not Lance. No, he was absolutely fucking _pissed_.

 

Lance was too pissed to even be the slightest bit intimidated.

 

Thinking about it made his blood boil. The field, the crowd, the blinding lights. His family, fuck, his _family_ was in the bleachers. They were there to support his dumb ass, like the great people they were. His nephew was finally out of the house for something other than school, just to watch him play.  His mom took time off work to watch him play, to see him play in front of recruiters.

 

The investors. The schools. The _recruiters_.

 

His opportunity, his dream, utterly _demolished_ in front of his very own eyes, because of some greasy _fucker_ with no impulse control-

 

Keith shoved Lance away from him. Not hard enough, though. He knew, he witnessed and felt first-hand every single practice and game Keith’s raw aggression on the field. Keith had to ability to run through three huge, rough defensive linemen without breaking a sweat. Like the goddamn _perfect_ athlete he was. The fact that he wasn’t pushing Lance made him furious. It was almost like Keith was taunting Lance, reinstalling the fact that Lance was _inferior_ to him in every single goddamn way-

 

“What’s wrong with _me_?” Keith retorted, fist on Lance’s chest, making him stumble back. It was okay though, because the locker broke his fall. “Not my fucking fault you didn’t see him hurdling to you!”

 

Lance was half-aware that his teammates were also, in fact, present. They only made the tension in the room grow thicker, because fuck, they were tired too. Tired of the game. Tired of this bullshit. He could softly hear the quiet pleas to calm down, to chill, but he couldn’t care less. He didn’t care at all.

 

The only thing he cared about that night was that there were _very_ important people there, people willing to get him a scholarship, some were even looking to _draft_ -

 

“ _Don’t_ ,” Lance seethed, pushes Keith back with one hand. He felt fury seeth through every part of his body. “don’t even try to put this shit on me. It was so fucking simple, the easiest play-“

 

The raven-haired teen growled. “It was obvious! So fucking obvious! The other team already knew by the time we got out there!”

 

Keith was frustrated, hands in his hair, looking like he was going to rip it out. Lance would gladly do so himself.

 

God, that sounded so _wrong_.

 

Teeth grinding and hands pulled in a fist so tightly it could leave scars, Lance snarled, “It would have still _worked_ regardless.”

 

“You wouldn’t have known that for sure-“

 

“You’re right. We won’t. We will never fucking know that for sure now because _you_ decided to jeopardize the entire fucking team with a half-assed plan!”

 

“A plan,” Keith gritted out, eyebrows fixed. His fists were clenched. “a plan that would’ve worked if you _followed_ it!”

 

Stubborn piece of shit-

 

“Keith, you’re not allowed to call out the shots,” Lance retorted, voice heavy. He swore if he started crying it would be the worst moment of his life. “just because you’re big brother’s the coach doesn’t mean you‘re suddenly also our captain!”

 

“Don’t let yourself think you’re the only good fucking player on this team. My brother brought me on this team because he knew I was _good enough_ , Lance.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Lance challenged. “or maybe he only let you on the team as a coping exercise to deal with your anger-management issues? Everyone knows how you got kicked out of your last school. Your record screams daddy issues and edgy teenager.”

 

Keith grimaced, and Lance felt a swerve of bitter victory that night. There really isn’t a more satisfying feeling than knowing that you just hit an enemy’s sore spot. He didn’t even know if Keith had family issues, considering his older brother seemed to be the most perfect specimen in the galaxy.

 

But Keith was also bark with a lot of bite. “Better than being an attention-starving little bitch with an ego too big to carry on his shoulders. You’re too self-absorbed to realize that your plan wasn’t going to work out at all,” Keith glowered.

 

Attention seeking? Really? Sure Lance was a bit of an obnoxious asshole but he wasn’t the one who hogged the ball the last minute of the game-

 

“It _was_ going to work,” Lance said, tired of repeating himself. Seriously, when was this going to get through this guy’s thick skull?

 

“Get your head out of your ass for _one fucking_ second!” Keith shouted, yelling for the first time that night. Everyone in the room physically winced. Even Lance shuddered. “your plan was too dumb to work at even elementary level. But because you’re too much of a headass, you _forced_ us to go through with it.”

 

“I’m the headass?” Lance scoffed pushing Keith back, again, for the billionth time that night. “Try trying to carry the entire team by himself last minute without telling anyone else because yeah, that’s a _great_ fucking plan.”

 

“Even if I was higher than a _kite_ I would have come up with a better play than yours.”

 

The tension in the room was thick, so thick that it was hard to breathe. Most of the players had already packed up, ready to leave before anything got too hectic. Some already did

 

Dak, surprisingly, stepped forward hesitantly, “Guys, I think we should calm down-“

 

“This isn’t a joke, Keith!” Lance raged, completely ignoring Dak, who stepped back with a look on his face that said, _well at least I tried_.“you cost the entire team scholarships! Not all of us are off the hook like you are!”

 

“Off the _hook_?-“

 

“Think about it,” Lance said, counting on his fingers. “You have family in the military, you’re smart as shit, you’re a minority, you’re a good football player, I bet they even have scholarships just because you can _breathe_.”

 

Keith scoffed, arms crossed. He stepped forward. “I-I’m confused, are you trying to insult me or compliment me?”

 

“Oh I have a lot more insults than that very _short_ list of redeeming qualities-“

 

Another player timidly stepped forward, and Lance recognized him. A little freshie, bless his soul, spoke quietly to try and dim the heat. “C-Can we just go now-“

 

“Shut up and leave!” Both Keith and Lance snapped simultaneously, both heads turned to the unsuspecting party. Wide eyed, the freshman quickly put all of his stuff in his duffle bag and headed towards the back, phone out, calling his mom.

 

Keith turned his head back to Lance, who did the same. “Alright, you want to talk about bad qualities? How about being an annoying class clown desperate for attention-“

 

“Better than being the wallowing emo Joe Jonas wannabe sitting in the corner off class-“

 

“Oh, and you’re already proving my next point,” Keith jeered, sticking a finger on Lance’s chest. “You think that shit like cliques and social status are still important. This isn’t High School fucking Musical, Lance, people can do whatever the hell they want.”

 

Lance quickly swatted his hand away, glowering. “And what about you, then? What am I supposed to say? _Keith, you’re so cool because you suck at ass at socializing_ and _teamwork? You’re so sophisticated_!”

 

Honestly, what was Keith’s problem? He fucked up the entire game by following his own self-righteous plan to try and save the game, he blamed Lance for following the plan that every had agreed on, he screwed the entire team over with said fucked-up plan, and now he was belittling Lance on every insecurity he has ever faced, every insecurity he knew everyone thought about behind his back. What did this guy think he did? Who does this guy think he is?

 

“Fuck off, Lance, I’m leaving,” Keith spat, after a moment or so, looking like he was growing sick of this conversation. He grabbed his helmet, discarded on the ground and stalked past Lance, who he aggressively shoved shoulders with towards his locker.

 

“I’m not trying to get suspended fighting a skinny, obnoxious _virgin_.”

 

The last sentence was so quiet, you could barely hear it over the whispers and the breaths that filled the room’s silence. He didn’t even know if his teammates heard it or not. But Lance heard it. He heard it loud and clear, as if someone screamed it in his ear. As if it was spelled out in his face.

 

He felt his ears ring as Keith shoved all his football gear into his duffle bag, throwing everything into the sack. Including the things that he normally left in his locker, like deodorant and extra jerseys. The locker was being emptied dry.

 

Was Keith _quitting_?

 

In that moment, all Lance could see was the color red. Ever since he met Keith, it’s been nothing but trouble. He’s a jackass who thinks he’s better than everyone, and what pisses Lance off more is that Keith _is_. He never listens to the coach, which happens to be his brother, who happens to be the coolest fucking guy in a fifty mile radius. He constantly leaves girls in heartbreak. He’s rude to teachers, students, hell, he’s even snappy to his friends. The mere presence of Keith made Lance irritated.

 

Keith deserved none of this. He didn’t deserve to be on the team. He didn’t deserve to have a cool brother. He didn’t deserve to get good grades when all he does is half-ass them. He doesn’t deserve his friends. He didn’t deserve to be quarterback.

 

He didn’t deserve anything. He didn’t deserve everything that Lance had worked hard for, worked his ass off for. Lance was always at his A game, working ten times as hard because, _fuck_ , it was hard to be successful. He had to work ten times as hard as Keith to get a fraction of what Keith gets. Because Keith, just like every other kid in this school, gets everything they want. A new car, a functional family, a normal life.

 

And honestly? Lance didn’t give a single fuck about whatever he was about to say, because he’s had enough. Keith was everything he envied in one manifestation. The anger, the rage, the jealousy, all made him realized how much he hated about life. Because life was a bitch, and it played favorites. And life’s favorite pastime was messing around with _his_ life.

 

Lance barely even heard the next words coming out of his mouth because of the pounding of his own ears. He wouldn’t even believe it himself, had it not been for numerous witnesses and what was yet to come in the next few months. But in that moment, in the frozen moment where he saw Keith throw a crumpled, dusted, beaten-up, abandoned letter from the Prestigious Garrison Scholarship federation in the trash, Lance let out the worst of his being.

 

“Bet you couldn’t even lay a hit on me, _faggot_.”

 

And suddenly, his ears weren’t pumping anymore, and it was replaced with strong hyper-awareness to his surrounding. His other teammates looked at him, as if they were expecting him to say something worse, even more cruel. Everyone except for Dak, who just looked stunned in the moment, because he was the only one who knew of Lance’s deep hatred for the word. The flash of pride that passed through Dak’s face only made Lance’s stomach sink deeper.

 

His mouth felt dry. Did he really just say that? Did he actually really fucking say that-

 

Suddenly he was pushed against the lockers, the metal clanging. The sensation hurt like shit, but the only thing Lance was focused on was the fact that Keith lifted him off the ground with one _hand_. What the hell.

 

“What the _fuck_ did you just say to me?” Keith snarled, and Lance swore he saw fangs. This kid was scary.

 

Lance, apparently, had no survival skills, because, with his eyes bore into Keith’s, his next words were: “You heard me.”

 

The next sensation he felt was not as pleasant as being pushed against lockers. In a split-second, Keith had let him drop. Next thing he knew was that a very rough fist had collided with his cheekbone and all Lance could taste was metallic blood.

 

The whole fight was a blur. One moment, Keith had the upper-hand, punching the crap out of places Lance didn’t know had feeling until that moment. The next, Lance was on top of Keith, getting a few licks in, and it didn’t feel as satisfying punching your arch-nemesis as he thought it would feel like. At one point, they were both standing up and we’re just straight boxing at this point, which was Lance’s forte.

 

Punch after punch, Lance couldn’t feel anything. He didn’t feel happy. He didn’t feel sad. Hell, he didn’t even feel angry at this point.

 

Because in the end, he knew this meant nothing. In the end, everyone’s going to have a different story about what went down, who was there, and who won the fight. No one cared who said what or what happened to instigate it. Keith wasn’t suddenly going to apologize for his play going south because Lance won the fight, and Lance wouldn’t think that Keith’s plan was better if Keith won the fight.

 

In the end, he didn’t even know who won, because administrators had already kicked down the door and tore them away from each other.

 

In the end, the blood rushing from Lance’s cheek didn’t mean shit. The consequences of it would.

 

* * *

 

 

When Lance was picked up from the office, his mom didn’t speak to him. She refused to look at him. Instead, she apologized to the principal and administrators, made a meeting about his punishments for Monday morning, and walked out, with Lance trailing behind her.

 

The car ride was the worst. Izaac had been picked up by someone else, so it was just him and his mom. The radio wasn’t on, and his mom’s usual playlist of her favorite spanish songs and early 2000s pop was deprived from his ears. All he could hear was his own breathing, and muffled chokes of tears coming out of his mother.

 

Lance had gotten the slipper for doing something far less worse than this. Like not washing the dishes, or putting gummy worms in his older brother’s shoes (because he hates worms).

 

He didn’t know the silent treatment could hurt this much. But it did.

 

When they arrived at the house, his mom wasted no time jumping out of the SUV and slamming the door shut, not turning back. Lance timidly stepped out of the car, noting that his leg hurt really badly.

 

The school nurses had fixed him up rather well, to be honest. He half-expected them to look his his developing bruises and cuts and put ice on it and call if a day. But they actually had stuff like bandages and gauze. However, he couldn’t get over the looks of disappointment they gave him, as if they knew he was better than this.

 

(He was).

 

When he finally stepped into the house, making sure to remove his dirty cleats before walking around, he was met with his mother, leaning against the kitchen table, back turned to him. Her bun sat low on her head, messy strands attaching to her tear-stained face. The kitchen table was littered with all sorts of papers, ranging from all sorts of sizes.

 

Bills.

 

“Out of all my children,” she whispered, voice shaking. Her first clenched, and she fell onto the chair, face in her arms. “out of all my children, you were the last one I expected this from.”

 

He flushed in shame. “Mom-“

 

“You’ve always been the smartest out of your siblings,” she mumbled, as if she was talking to himself instead of him. But Lance knew that t was a lie, because his siblings were doctors and lawyers and teachers and he was a dumbass kid. “But the moment I let you have some freedom, you do dumb things.”

 

She turned to face him, and he felt his heart break. His mom was still wearing her uniform, which had a stain or two. Her mascara was all ruined and running down her face. Her curly hair was tied in a low, disgruntled ponytail. Despite all this, Lance still thought his mom was one of the most beautiful women in the world.

 

The kindest, most loving mother anyone could ask for. And he made her cry.

 

“I let you drink alcohol sometimes, a-and go to parties, and sleepover,” She began. “Things my parents never let me do at your age. Because you are- were a responsible child. What happened to you?”

 

The words echoed in his head. _What happened_? Maybe it started when he realized that his piece of shit dad left only a few months after he was born. Maybe it started when he started drifting farther and farther apart from his older siblings and starting relying on himself. Or maybe it started when he realized he was the only Hispanic kid in his second grade class when a kid pointed it out. Maybe it started when it started when he joined the football team, or started dating girls that only wanted him because he was slightly attractive. Maybe it started at the beginning of the school year when he met a kid that or challenged him in every single fucking way. Or maybe-

 

“Are you taking after your sister?” she interjected his thoughts with her own.

 

Lance’s head shot up, wide eyed and stunned at what his mother just said.

 

“W-What?” he croaked out.

 

She hasn’t talked about his sister in _months_.

 

“Veronica started at this age too,” she whispered, but she wasn’t even looking at him. She wasn’t even _talking_ to him. “She got into her first fight in eleventh grade, and more and more and more, until-until she just became a different person. She didn’t want my help anymore. Veronica-“

 

“Mom-“

 

“She was also in a sport too, God, where did I go wrong-“

 

“ _Mom_ ,” Lance pleaded, tears spilling out of his eyes. Fuck, he was crying now too. He wasn’t supposed to do that. “It was never your fault and you know that. She’s gone and we have to deal with it. You need to get over it.”

 

He didn’t realize how harsh his words were until he saw the look in her eyes. As if she had just been slapped across the face. His mom was trembling now, looking at him with tears eyes. As if she didn’t know who he was anymore. The way she talked about his father. She was looking at him like he was about to leave her too.

 

Lance would never even dream of it. The fact that his mother even thought of it made him want to break down.

 

“Go to your room,” she says quietly. “I can’t bear to look at your face anymore.”

 

* * *

 

 

Once in his room, he immediately took out his phone. It had been going off since the moment he connected to the wifi at home.

 

Lance lied down on the bed, trying not to hurt himself in the process. Once the cool sheets hit his back, he sighed in comfort. His back had really been hurting like a bitch, even before the fight had started. His arms had bruises on every part of his skin. His head was still dizzy. Maybe he had a concussion? The nurses didn’t say anything about that, but then again, school nurses aren’t really the most helpful people in the medical world.

 

When he took out his phone, he noticed how fucked up his hands looked. The knuckles were scraped and dry. His palms had crescent shaped scars from clenching his fist so tightly. His left thumb had a cut that had been bandaged and cleaning. In fact, most of his fingers were covered with blue and red bandaids.

 

How ironic it was that the most pain inflicted on him was his own doing.

 

His phone kept on going off, and he was getting kind of annoyed. Seriously? It was almost one in the morning.

 

When he turned on his phone, he felt his stomach plummet. _327 notifications_. Did he have people actually care about him this much or did they only care about the fight?

 

The first person he decided to open his messages from was, unsurprisingly, Ezor. She was known for being kind of a gossip and a nosy person, but honestly, who didn’t know that. She was his main source of all information. Despite all that, she wasn’t a mean person who used it against anyone, she just wanted to know.

 

**Friday** 11:23 PM

 

**Ezorrr:**

Okay so idk if this is true or not lol but I heard from angelica that jess said that toddy told her that you apparently got into a fight w keith?? kogane??

 

**Ezorrr:**

Toddy’s kinda a bitch ass punk so i dont know if i believe him

 

**Ezorrr:**

like i don’t  believe it still

 

**Ezorrr:**

Ur really prissy about scholarships and all tht shit so i don’t think u would do smth to hurt ur

 

**Ezorrr:**

reputation

 

**Ezorrr:**

but i just wanna know because it was prolly funny as fuck send me the vid boo

 

**Saturday** 12:21 AM

 

**Ezorrr:**

SKSKSKKSJSSGD OH shit I just saw the video oh my LORDY

 

**Ezorrr:**

IDK A BITCH KNEW HOW TO FIGHT

 

**Ezorrr:**

GO AWWWWWWFFFFFF oml

 

**Ezorrr:**

y’all were going at it omg

 

**Ezorrr:**

this is sum Surreal shit though am i in the twilight zone

 

**Ezorrr:**

what happened tho? like y the fuc would u get into a fight

 

**Ezorrr:**

thot answer me

 

**Ezorrr:**

ik you don’t like him but still

 

**Ezorrr:**

but fr are you ok????? did he hurt you like badly?? did you break anything?

 

**Ezorrr:**

answer me ;((((((((

 

Lance cringed at the messages. So everyone knew about the fight the moment it ended huh? And someone also recorded it and sent it to everyone, which meant that everyone would have probably seen it by now. Damn, how much power the smartphone has.

 

He decided to just send her a short message. Lance really didn’t feel like answering her onslaught of messages that would be hurled at him indefinitely.

 

**Saturday** 12:52 AM

 

**Lance:**

I’m ok i’m really tired though. i’m tryna get my mind off of it i hope u understand. but yeah keith’s an asshole spread the word gn

 

There. That was that. Ezor would probably be satisfied with that answer for the meantime.

 

Lance continued to scroll through more of his text messages. Most of them were from people he hasn’t texted in months. Some he didn’t even know how they found his number. Lance paused and groaned when he saw the multiple notifications he got from Acxa. Of course she would text him.

 

**Friday** 11:35 PM

 

**acxa body spray:**

I heard from Ezor that you beat up my little cousin.

 

**acxa body spray:**

I know he’s a bit temperamental but I don’t get why he would get in a fight? He’s so adamant about not getting into trouble, but a few weeks into the school year he already got in a fight.

 

**acxa body spray:**

He won’t answer any of my texts. Shirt won’t either. I’m hoping to get an answer out of you.

 

**acxa body spray:**

*Shiro

 

Lance sighed, rolling over to his side as he thought about what to say. What was he going to say? He was already grateful that she didn’t already go off on his for punching her cousin. Would she understand that Keith got rocked because he didn’t follow the plan? It would probably sound stupid to her. Football sounds stupid to anyone who doesn’t like football.

 

He concluded that a minimalized recounting of the event would suffice.

 

**Saturday** 12:53 AM

 

**Lance:**

We got into a fight bc of the game. i was trying to tell him what he did was stupid but he wasn’t listening so one thing led to another and keith threw the first punch. hope that clears ur mind gn

 

His texts were more of the same. His friend group continuously asked if he was okay, what happened, and why it happened. Nyma congratulated him on his first fight, asked him if he was hurt, then asked him for the math homework answers. Rolo gave him instructions of how to take care of his cuts, but the letters were jumbled up and Lance was pretty sure he was high. Hunk told him he was stupid as shit and should work it out with Keith, which Lance promptly ignored. And Dak just sent him the video.

 

Oh god, the video.

 

Watching it made his stomach turn. It was like watching a fight on Worldstar, except he was the one of the guys in the video. Keith’s raw strength was evident in the video, by the way he basically picked up Lance like a rag doll and punched the lights out of him. But the part that made him sick was when _he_ started to fight back. It didn’t even look like him. He looked like a crazy person when he got on top of Keith and hit him over and over and over again-

 

He stopped the video and went to Snapchat.

 

If his texts were bad, his Snapchat messages looked like literal hell. People who didn’t even know him were blasting his Snapchat with messages and snaps. Ezor and Acxa had even more things to say on the app than on messages, because Snapchat can easily delete messages. The football group snapchat was blasting with life, with everyone messaging at the same time. Even Plaxum, a girl he dated last year who ended the relationship by ‘never wanting to speak to him again’ messaged him.

 

The price of being a social butterfly, he guessed.

 

Lance was opening up messages so he didn’t have to deal with them later. He knew it was kind of a dick move to leave people on read, but he didn’t feel like dealing with the same questions over and over again. Did people really have nothing else better to do Friday nights?

 

He paused his scrolling when he came across a surprising user. Pidge, apparently, wanted to go off on him as well. There was no doubt in his mind that Pidge would probably come up with an eight page thesis on why the fighting was stupid and based on hypermasculinity and all that stuff he doesn’t care about.

 

Lance opened the chat. To his surprise, there was only one simple message that popped up on his screen.

 

**TODAY**

 

**PIDGEON**

| why did you do it?

 

Seriously? She’s really asking why he got into a fight with Keith, as if no one told her already.

 

**ME**

| What do you mean whyd i do it it was bc keith was being stubborn n ruined our game and we got into a fight thats it

 

Right when he sent the message, her Bitmoji was already popping up in the chat, indicating that she had seen the message and was currently typing back.

 

**PIDGEON**

| really? that’s it? because keith said that there was plenty more said.

 

**ME**

| Ofc he said that. i called him joe jonas and he called me obnoxious why d u think we started even fighting

 

**ME**

| You might not believe me but it was sersiouyl his fault this time

 

**PIDGEON**

| seriously don’t play dumb with me lance i could literally hack into your phone and steal all your credit card information.

 

**ME**

| Wow rude much. i’m surprised your fbi man hasnt snitched u out yet lmao

 

Lance tried for light-hearted jokes, but was immediately met with a hostile message.

 

**PIDGEON**

| i’m not joking. i thought you were a cool guy then you pull dumb shit like this.

 

**ME**

| I am a cool dude wym

 

**PIDGEON**

| dude you literally f ucking called keith the f word

 

**PIDGEON**

| that’s not cool dude.

 

Oh. So this was what this was all about? Lance was pretty sure that Pidge would be mad about it, but there was also plenty more to be mad about. Like the fact that he compared him to Joe Jonas. Joe Jonas had literally never done anything wrong in his life to be compared to Keith Kogane. But honestly, why would she be mad about something like that?

 

It was obvious that Keith only got pissed because Keith, being Keith, wanted to keep up his big emo manly man status and being called the f word was an insult to his huge fucking ego he pretended not to have. It might make sense that Pidge would be pissed off at this though, being a supporter of LGBT rights, but kids said it in the halls all the time, what made the difference if he said stupid shit like that.

 

**ME**

| I’m sorry for what i said pidge i wasn’t thinking

 

**ME**

| Like i’m really sorry

 

**PIDGEON**

| oh, i’m not the only one you offended.

 

**ME**

| You mean keith?? i mean he gets pissed off at everything its not rlly hard to offend him lol

 

**PIDGEON**

| oh my fucking go d i told you not to play dumb with me.

 

**ME**

| Pidge i’m not playing dumb wth. if keith’s mad over that he should get ovr it

 

**PIDGEON**

| wait are you serious? like you actually don’t know?

 

Lance was so done at this point. Here he was, lying on his bed, still clad in his football gear, trying to give people a peace of mind at 12:56 in the morning when he should have been sleeping. In the past few hours, he had just lost the first game of the season, punched a guy, was scolded by every administrator and teacher that was in a five mile radius of him, had to go through the most depressing conversation of his life with his mother, and now had to deal with more than fifty people on five different mediums of social media who have no business asking him about his night, because he would legitimately talk about _anything_ else at the moment.

 

He did _not_ have the time to deal with Pidge’s cryptic bullshit right now. Especially if it was about Keith.

 

**ME**

| Pidge i swear on my dead cat and my legendary pokemon cards i have no fucking idea what youre talking about.

 

**PIDGEON**

| oh my god you’re actually serious holy shit.

 

**PIDGEON**

| hunk is going to have a field day with this lMAO

 

**ME**

| Dude what the hell just tell me

 

Lance was having a perfectly good day. Everything was great. He was happy, healthy, and convinced that today was just another win in the vault. He had expected to win, go home with his mom and nephew, and eat pizza. He hasn’t expected all of this to go down.

 

And he certainly didn’t expect this.

 

**PIDGEON**

| lance, my dude

 

**PIDGEON**

| my sweet son

 

**PIDGEON**

| keith is gay.

 

Lance read the message. Then he read it again. Then a third time. It takes a whole minute for him to read it over fifteen times, and another to process it.

 

Then he short-circuits.

 

_What the fuck_.

  
  
  
 

   


	2. worth the guarantee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He swallowed his pride, and embraced humility.
> 
> “Look,” Lance started, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I didn’t- I didn’t know you were gay.”
> 
> Lance didn’t- couldn’t look Keith in the eye. He was so anxious about this. Was his voice too high-pitched? Too quiet? Did his question sound sarcastic, or completely devoid of emotion at all? In hindsight, Lance shouldn’t be so worried about apologizing this much. It’s just a misunderstanding, right? He was stupid and ignorant and is willing to admit it, he always is if he’s in the wrong, but there’s something about apologizing to Keith that made him nervous.
> 
> “Are you joking?” Keith snorted.
> 
> Ouch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe i should, um, explain why i haven’t updated in five months.
> 
> before i even posted chapter one, i already had been halfway through finishing chapter two. i had this entire story outline written in my notebook, and i was confident that i was going to post on a regular schedule. then vld s7 came out.
> 
> i know i talk mad shit about voltron a lot, but i was actually excited about s7. every teaser looked interesting, the episodes looked entertaining, and of course, gay shiro.
> 
> so let me tell you that after watching that entire season, disappointment was an understatement.
> 
> every single freaking panel, every single season, they say that lance is going to have a leadership arc. that he’s finally, finally going to have his insecurities addressed. but they never addressed them, and i don’t think they ever will. and it makes me so made that they have a character with so much potential and so much character and pretend it didn’t even exist. don’t get me started on the adam shit as well. that was a whole ass mess.
> 
> voltron emotionally drains me. the show does, the fandom does, even the fanfics do. so i completely scrapped the original chapter to try and bring my brown boy to justice.
> 
> let me tell you, it was a bitch trying to write this chapter. not only have ap classes been kicking my ass, but sports and trying to hang out with friends take most of my time. also i’m a huge procrastinator. but i finally managed to get this thing done, because i’m truly, genuinely in love with this story.
> 
> tw: heavy use of homophobic slurs, (small) mentions of abuse, and puking. read at your own discretion. i’m still trying to keep this relatively teen friendly though, so nothing really that bad anyways. 
> 
> i cried writing some of this. also no beta.
> 
> buckle up boys because this is a long one.

* * *

* * *

 

  
  


_What the fuck_.

 

Oh shit shit shit _shit_ -

 

He involuntarily shrieks and with a throw that could rival a professional baseball player’s his phone flies across the room. Suddenly, he is very, very much awake, and he jolts up, hands running through his hair. A million thoughts run through his mind a mile a minute.

 

Keith was gay? This whole fucking time? This _entire_ time? Every time his friends talked about Keith with such distaste and bitterness, were they talking about his personality or sexuality? Did they know he was gay? Did Keith tell him at one point and Lance just completely forgot about it? Did everyone know about this and Lance was kept in the dark? Or was it just an inner circle thing? Who _was_ Lance’s inner circle?

 

Lance’s mind flashes back to the beginning of summer, and fuck-

 

He dashed across the room to pick up his forgotten phone. His eyes glaze over the screen, and inspects it to make sure it wasn’t more broken than it already was. Then, Lance decides to open his phone again.

 

**PIDGEON**

| hellooooooooo? earth to lance?

 

**PIDGEON**

| jesus fucking christ hunk i think i killed him.

 

**PIDGEON**

| whoops that was meant for hunk sorry about that r you ok.

 

No. Lance absolutely was fucking not okay. Contrary, he was having a mini breakdown in sweaty and dirty clothes while trying to be as silent as humanly possible because his mom was sleeping only a few rooms down.

 

**ME**

| No offense but what the f uck

 

**PIDGEON**

| what the fuck indeed.

 

**ME**

| This whole time?? everyone knew he was gay???? this whole fuckingtIME?

 

**PIDGEON**

| i mean skkdjskksks

 

**ME**

| THIS WHOLE TIME

 

**PIDGEON**

| he didn’t have to tell anyone. it was just, like, obvious.

 

Obvious? Lance has a hard time distinguishing what he feels about pineapple on pizza, how the hell is he supposed to distinguish someone else’s sexuality? He sat back and groaned into his hands, completely and utterly tired of the night.

 

He checked his phone again and Pidge, that wise short piece of shit, asked him another impossible question to answer.

 

**PIDGEON**

| wow ok um

 

**PIDGEON**

| this is pretty awkward.

 

**PIDGEON**

| but since you didn’t know keith was gay, and he thinks you know he’s gay, and now that that everyone knows he’s gay…

 

**PIDGEON**

| what are you going to do now?

 

What _was_ he going to do now? He’s never expected his day to end like this, lying down on his bed, contemplating the choices he will make in the next few days of his life. He especially didn’t think that he was going to be thinking about Keith, rewinding and replaying every interaction they’ve ever had so far and replacing it with the context he knew now. And while he was thinking, it was a little sad how ingrained Keith had become in his life, that most of his days were spent with him. It was even more sad that most of that time, it was spent butting heads and aggressiveness.

 

It sucks that Keith probably thought that Lance hated him because he was gay. It left a sinking feeling in his stomach that anyone would ever think that he would, despite the fact that he hung out with a bunch of douchebags and he kinda called Keith a homophobic slur-

 

Yeah. Lance would hate himself too.

 

(He already hates himself).

 

Life was a bitch. It was ruthless and cruel and discriminatory. Sometimes it was sweet and nice and beautiful. Lance knew this better than anyone. But it was terrible most of the time because he deserved it most of the time. He was arrogant and cocky and it reflected. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, not his mom’s, not his sister’s, and especially not Keith’s. That’s just the way things are because that’s the way _he_ is.

 

Lance was left with this thought as he stared at the popcorn white ceiling, the dim light emitting from the blinds washing over him like a blanket. The phone in his hand was long forgotten, and he didn’t feel sleep come to him at all that night. He put his palms over his face and groaned.

 

Fuck. What _was_ he going to do?

 

* * *

 

 

Three months ago was the worst time of Lance’s life.

 

It was the beginning of summer, the heat beginning to set in. Students started to ditch their long-sleeves and jeans for tank-tops and shorts, replacing their hot chocolates for lemonade. Finals were just around the corner, and everyone bristled around anxiously, as the year was coming to a close. Some people gave zero fucks about tests that cost about fifty percent of their grade, and some were over exerting themselves for something that only cost ten. All of his friends and classmates were working themselves to the limit, crying while studying or something of the sorts. Lance should be worrying about finals too.

 

Except he’s not.

 

He hasn’t been himself lately. Usually, when Lance went to school, he came with a sense of fresh joy, happy that he can spend time with his friends. Instead, he trudged through the halls, agonized through lectures, and instead of eating lunch, he opted for studying by himself in a classroom. At first, everyone was worried for him, the Lance that they knew became a shell of what he used to be. He still smiled, sure, and laughed at some dumbass shit that Bandor said, but they were empty and forced. After half-hearted protests, they stopped pestering him eventually, alternatively giving him pitiful glances as he passed by.

 

Izaac had just moved in with them that week, and it was everything he presumed it would be. The kid barely came out of his room, didn’t finish his meals, and didn’t talk to Lance at all, even if they shared the same bedroom. He was, essentially, a mirror of Lance. He was annoyed, because his mom had so kindly offered the kid a place to stay, even if they barely had enough to get by themselves. But even then, Lance could understand what he was going through.

 

His mom had thrown herself into work. She had insisted on taking overtime anytime it was offered, and came home late on most days, when everyone was no longer awake. She stopped kissing Lance goodbye before she went to work, and he felt himself sink when he realized the fact. Of course as her son he should feel concerned. But who was he to judge? He was a hypocrite.

 

Lance’s sports season had just ended, so he had no other way to drown himself in something other than his thoughts. So he decided to take up more hours working. He worked at a family owned restaurant, Olkari, in the far side of town. It was named after the forest that was nearby. The restaurant was owned by a lovely older lady named Ryner. She was hesitant beforehand, considering he was a scrawny fifteen year old kid and she knew very well that he had finals. But after pleading, and seeing the look in his eyes, she gave in.

 

So Lance worked. In the beginning, it was fine. He liked serving the people that came in, most were older men and women who liked the taste of the fresh vegetables and hearty meals. He liked the fact that their regulars was an old woman who had a lot of stories to tell, and tipped generously. He liked that it wasn’t close to his school but closer to home, so he didn’t have to bump into people he didn’t want to see, regardless if they were cool or not. He liked Ryner, a feisty and smart gray-haired woman who treated him like a son and not another burden she had to pay.

 

However, just like everyone else, they get burned out. By the end of the week before finals, he was exhausted. He didn’t look forward to going to school and interacting with people who walked on eggshells around him. He didn’t look forward to going to work, despite how much he liked hearing the old woman talk about the time in the fifties when she sneaked out her window and stole her neighbor’s motorcycle to go to the beach to buy liquor with her friends. He didn’t look forward to coming home to an empty house with an empty heart. There was nothing to look forward to anymore.

 

He just felt so _tired_.

 

Florana, a brown haired girl with a face full of freckles, was sitting next to him in their English class. She tapped on his shoulder worryingly when it ended, and asked him if he was okay. He gave her this look that made him look dead inside, but said that he was. When she told him that he should start talking to the school therapist, he kind of just snapped. He remembers telling her that he didn’t need to talk to a shrink and stormed out the room, into a bathroom stall. It was the first time he had ever snapped at someone like that. He wasn’t that type of person.

 

When he gets into the (thankfully) empty bathroom, he makes a leeway to the closest stall. Once he sits on the toilet, he stops and thinks for a second. First, he thought about how fucking rude it was to Florana, who had honest to god been just worried about him. God, he was such a dickhead. He’s been rude to all his friends lately too, but he can’t bring himself to care. Lance doesn’t care about anything at this point, because what _is_ the point?

 

Lance has never felt part of anything, _ever_. Even on the football team, something that he loves and enjoys, he never fucking belonged. A skinny brown boy who was shorter than the rest, poorer than the rest, just less than everyone on the team in general. That was considered a nuisance until he started to prove himself, because god knows how much he had to work to the skill level he was now. And even when he becomes better, they still don’t fuck with him. Everyone had their own go to buddies on the football team, everyone had their go to players, Lance had nothing. Even after their celebrations, their triumphs, their everything, he still feels like a spectator to his own fucking life.

 

His friend group was no different either, because what _was_ his friend group? Was it the football team, people who hung out with him solely because he played football, or did they genuinely want to hang out with him for his personality? No, because the only person that he really ever has a meaningful and deep conversation with is Bandor, a kid who was a year younger than him and had other people to hang out with besides the football team. It certainly wasn’t Ezor’s group of gal pals, because as much as he liked her, their group was tight-knit. They’ve known each other since childhood, shared bruises and scars, something Lance had never had. It wasn’t with Plaxum, nor Luxia, nor Hunk, or anybody. Nyma and her group of friends were the closest thing to a friend group, but they acted more like they had to tolerate him.

 

If you’d ask anything other person, they’d easily say that Lance was popular and had a lot of friends, but the last statement was far from the truth. He was cool with everyone but friends with no one.

 

Hell, he didn’t even fucking fit in with his own family, a predetermined destined role he was forced into. When he was born, most of his siblings were already in high school. At first, having a baby brother was cute and fun, but after a while they got bored, which made sense. He was young, way younger than most of his cousins and siblings, too young to ever grow up with anyone. His aunts and uncles didn’t give him too much thought, their baby fever long gone. Lance was just a kid already behind on a race that started a long time ago. The only people who actually have a shit about him was his mom and his sister, Veronica, who was nine years older than him. How sad it was that he didn’t belong in a family that was designed for him.

 

On the toilet, surrounded by walls covered in sharpie dicks and profanity, he just starts crying. Lance doesn’t even realize he started crying until his tears hit the tiles, and the dam breaks. He doesn’t want to know how pathetic he looked then.

 

Lance had never cried in front of anyone besides his mom and his sister. He learned in an early age that crying didn’t do shit for anyone. It made him look weak, and it made other people worry about him, so he hates doing it. So it obviously unsettled him that he’s bawling in a dirty school bathroom stall during class time when there’s a poorly done drawing of the principal followed by a ‘fuck this bitch’ done in sparkly purple sharpie on the wall next to him.

 

This was pathetic. _He_ was pathetic. Lance was going through the worst of what life could throw at his face and he had no one to talk to about it.

 

After a few hearty minutes of embarrassing sniffles and an unhealthy amount of tears that spill from his eyes, he stops. Lance just stops, and walks out of the stall and looks at himself in the mirror. To the surprise of no one, he looked like a mess. His hair is a mess, a mop of brown hair that looked like he just got into a fight with a tree and lost. His eyes are red and puffy and tear stained and he can barely see and- shit, he had a pimple on the bridge of his nose.

 

He washed his face, never minding the fact that school water was pretty gross, and tried to remove all signs of crying out of his expression. The tardy bell had already rung, meaning that Lance was late to class. For the first time in his life. Great.

 

It’s not like the hall monitors or the administrators would care either way. It was the second to last week of school, right before finals. If he was caught, the most he would receive is a slap on the wrist and a stern lecture. In the midst of washing his face, he could hear someone walk in, the sound of sneakers against the tiles echoing through the bathroom. He tries to ignore the fact that he jumped up a bit, startled.

 

The sink turns off and he turns his gaze up to see what poor soul walked into his teenage angst session. The poor soul turned out to be none other than Roland Rhoades.

 

Roland-or Rolo was more of an acquaintance than what Lance would ever consider a friend. They’ve had some classes in the past, and even shared his computer class with him, but in other instances, they’ve never really hung out together willingly. Most of the time, it was Nyma who dragged along her boyfriend when he hung out with her after school or at the mall. If Lance was completely honest, Rolo was kind of a really intimidating guy. He was snarky and sleazy, speaking whatever came to his mind no matter how provocative, usually at the horror to his teachers and to the humor of his classmates. He was the type of kid who was clearly incredibly smart, but didn’t give a shit about most of the things school taught him and usually took Fs as if they were As and vice versa. To top it all off, Rolo usually hung out with the druggies and soccer players, and reeked of marijuana wherever he went.

 

Safe to say, Lance didn’t go actively looking for the dude on a regular basis. They were still cool with each other, but their interests and friends didn’t correspond well with each other, so they don’t hang out.

 

“Hey dude,” Rolo greeted, clapping his hand on his back before he went to another sink mirror. He examined his face in the reflection. “What’re you doin’ out of class so early?”

 

Lance gets a bunch of paper towels and starts drying his face, careful to pat lightly on his skin. He doesn’t want to risk even more breakouts. “I could ask the same about you.”

 

“There’s nothing surprising about me ditching,” Rolo mused. Lance shrugs, because he had a point. “But _you_? That should be a more interesting story.”

 

“Didn’t feel like having to listen to the teacher rattle on and on about her ex-boyfriend,” Lance puts bluntly. He takes his fingers through his hair, cringing at how tangled it was. He really was a mess. “You know how she is.”

 

Rolo barks out a rough laugh. It strained and it’s quiet, like he’s not really trying to make any noise, and suddenly it clicks in Lance’s brain. Rolo was hiding out in the bathroom, all the way across campus from where his actual class was, because he wasn’t trying to get caught by campus security. He sympathizes, and starts chuckling a bit too.

 

Then he stops, and Lance is still quietly giggling to himself. He doesn’t notice until Rolo’s a few inches away from his face.

 

“You’re eyes are red as fuck, dude,” Rolo observes, and Lance blinks, eyes wide, about to open his mouth to let a fumble of words slip out. Rolo grins. “Have you been doing weed?”

 

Oh.

 

Lance’s heart does _not_ go into mini cardiac arrest in that moment, which he is most thankful for. He almost lets out a sigh of relief. Leave it to Rolo to completely misunderstand why Lance looked like absolute shit. At least he didn’t have to deal with an awkward pep talk and an obligatory _man, that sucks_ in an attempt to make him feel better. ance scoots away awkwardly so he wasn’t so close to Rolo’s face.

 

“As if,” Lance scoffs, trying to play it off like he wasn’t on the verge of tears. He was known for many things, like looking like a full course meal twenty-four seven and sports, and pot was not one of them. He had too much at stake to be caught with that stuff in hand.

 

“Oh,” the ashy-blonde said. “Then why’re your eyes red?”

 

“Allergies, man,” Lance responds nonchalantly. “You know, there’s a lot of dust in the air recently.”

 

“True that,” Rolo says. After an awkward moment of silence, he questioned, “Are you going to Ezor’s party?”

 

“What party?” Lance asks.

 

“She didn’t- she didn’t tell you?” he faltered, and _oh_.

 

Ezor was a kind girl (when she knew when to shut her mouth) and that kindness was extended to everybody, no matter where they were from. Although she was a bit of a gossip, Ezor made a point about talking about everyone behind their back equally, so no one felt like they were on chosen sides, which was kind of a puzzling when Acxa first explained it to him when they first met. The only time that Ezor narrows her bubbly good-naturedness was when someone specifically informs her that they were either not on speaking terms, or that they just didn’t like her at all. Lance had recently stopped taking to bus to school, opting for the more physical transportation- his bike, even if it took thirty-five minutes.

 

Riding his bike to school unfortunately meant a reduced time of talking to Ezor. As well as the fact that he had thrown himself into school work during school hours and sneakily, but failingly, avoiding most of his classmates. Knowing that Ezor was one for dramatic antics, it meant only one thing. She thought he was ignoring her, and she avoided him.

 

It wasn’t like he _wasn’t_ trying to steer clear of her, it was just that he was shutting himself away from _everyone_. Even so, the thought that she didn’t try to ask him left a pit in his throat. He guessed he deserved it, anyways.

 

“Nah,” Lance dismisses, hoping it sounded like he didn’t give as much of a shit as he did. “Haven’t talked to her in a while, been busy.”

 

“Well,” Rolo supposed, brushing it off. “It’s open invitation, her mom’s out of town. Next Saturday, after finals to, you know, celebrate another year in this hell hole. I’m bringing drinks ‘nd chips ‘nd shit. You should come.”

 

Lance pondered a bit. The sound of letting loose after a stressful week of finals and tests sounded promising, sure, but Ezor was infamous for not actually having her parties at her house. She pretends to, of course, to give everyone’s parents a piece of mind, but everyone knew where she actually held her parties.

 

Atlas Pointe. It was in the middle of a forest up north, a shrub of land that Lance never visited. It was where rich people liked to rent because of its amazing view of the sky. But Ezor was a rich girl with connections, so she could easily rent out the place for a maximum of five bucks.

 

The thought of ever going to Atlas Pointe made him want to throw up.

 

So Lance settled with, “I’m not in the mood to be surrounded by a bunch of high teenagers.”

 

“No weed,” Rolo quickly clarifies. “Ezor’s mom found out she’s been doin’ it, so she’s trying keep it out of her house before her mom sends her to some religious school or something. Surprised her mom hasn’t chained her to the house yet.”

 

“I..I’m not sure,” Lance mutters. “I’ve got a lot of things going on lately-“

 

“C’mon man,” Rolo whined, hands on his shoulders, which takes Lance by surprise. “It’ll be fun, I swear. You’ve been M.I.A. for weeks now, and no one knows why, but I bet it’ll ease your tension. Nyma told me she read it in a magazine article- w-well, before Nyma... broke up with me.”

 

He lets go of Lance’s shoulders and scratches the back of his neck, eyes pointed towards the ground. Lance wants to groan out loud, because isn’t this the fourth time they broke up this year? Now Lance has to deal with a semi-heartbroken Rolo, who’s all puppy-eyes right now. Not to mention that Lance is also semi-intimidated by him, so he has no idea what would happen if he said no.

 

He contemplates the situation. The pros are that he’ll get to see his friends, get an adrenaline kick, and free food. The cons are that, he’ll get to see his friends, unintentionally get drunk by cheap beer from Walmart, throw up, accidentally over-share what’s been going on the last few weeks to a bunch of strangers, see his exes, wake up with a hangover, have his mom tell at him-

 

“No weed, right?” Lance affirms.

 

“Cross my heart and hope to die, McClain,” Rolo swears, and he dramatically crosses his chest with his fingers. Lance gulps.

 

“It’s not in the forest this time?” Lance reassured.

 

Rolo nodded.

 

He purses his lips. “I guess I could stop by-“

 

“Great,” Rolo beams-well, what you would call a beam of that tired face of his. All traces of sadness has drained from his face, which makes Lance want to punch himself in the face. Of course, Rolo was infamous for being incredibly good at hiding his true intentions. “Make sure to bring something, it’s a potluck. Gotta dash before security find me, see you later.”

 

“Wait-“

 

It’s too late, because the fucker is already gone, footsteps dying down quickly. He hears the calls of campus security chasing after him.

 

 _Great_ , he thinks to himself. Now he has to clear his schedule, and mentally prepare himself to seem like there is definitely absolutely _nothing_ _wrong_ going on in his life for a whole night. How exhausting that sounded. He has to clear out his schedule as well that day, because he quite remembers putting down that he was working that whole afternoon.

 

It’s just a party. He’s been to plenty of parties. What’s the worst that could happen?

 

* * *

 

 

As it turns out, Lance discovers the answer to his last question. Relatively quickly.

 

He’s standing on the front porch of a really, _really_ nice house, nicer than any of the houses in his neighborhood. This house was closer to school meaning _of fucking course_ it was going to be nice, because this was what people at school called the nice houses. If you lived in that area, that meant you or your parents were doing very well in life. It wasn’t like Lance hadn’t been to Ezor’s house before, no, quite the opposite. He’s come over for projects and all that jazz. It’s just that at night, with the streetlights twinkling on the structure and the loud, bassy music that erupted from it, it was safe to say that Lance felt a little bit intimidated.

 

There were some kids on the front patio, and they were playing Uno or something of the sorts. They stared at Lance as he walked towards the door, and he desperately wants to tell them to fuck off.

 

As soon as he knocks, the front door swung open. He jumped at the loud banging sound it made. There, at the door, stood a grinning, happy Ezor, in all her green-haired glory. Did she recently dye it again?

 

“Lance!” she greeted by crushing him with a bear hug, knocking the air out of his lungs and making him almost drop the drinks he had been holding. She pulled away, and a huge smile took up a considerable portion of her face. “I knew you didn’t hate me!”

 

He blinks once or twice, and tries for a sly grin, praying it didn’t look as forced as it felt. “ _Well_ , I mean you can’t be so sure about that.”

 

She playfully punched his arm. “Sod off. I’m just glad your feeling better. I’m sorry about-“

 

“It’s fine,” he interrupts, swallowing the lump in his throat. He waves it off when she looks like she was going to protest. “I’m just here to have fun.”

 

“I-okay,” she settled, playing with the end of her green ponytail. Ezor looked hesitant, but all Lance wanted tonight was anything but pity. “Come in, I’ll show you where to put the drinks.”

 

She ushers him in, and Lance gets to take in the scene. It wasn’t like what you saw in 2000s teen movies, where it’s so batshit crazy that people are hanging off ceilings and the neighbors have to call the cops. Instead, people are loitering around, making conversation and flirting. No one looks crazy drunk yet, but there’s one guy sitting on the couch looking like he’s contemplating life. There’s karaoke machine set up, and there’s a bunch of dudes rapping to an old 90s song that everyone forgot about, a few whoops coming from the people surrounding them. Some kids are playing beer pong in the corner, one with a significant amount of cups in her corner.

 

They’re in the kitchen, and there’s a bunch of kids that Lance doesn’t recognize as he sets down the drinks. They stare at him thoughtfully, and he notices that one of them is wearing a Thayserix High School shirt. Of course.

 

“I’m going to the backyard,” Ezor smiles. “They’re trying to push Acxa into the pool, and I want to be the one that does it. Make yourself at home.”

 

She leaves him in the kitchen, and slams open the sliding door to the backyard, starting to yell at a group of people who were hanging on the tree branches over her family’s flower bed. Lance decides to get a can of beer before stalking back to the living room, to a corner where social interaction would be limited, but also would make him not look like a total lonely loser.

 

He decides to place himself at a wall, between two groups of people. One group consisted of a guy and a girl he’s seen walk around school before, but not together. The girl has a laugh on the tip of her tongue and the guy has a hand on her waist. The group to his left is a bunch of girls chatting about some guy that probably walked by a short time ago who has short brown hair, brown skin, and blue ocean eyes. Lucky guy.

 

Hesitantly, he takes a sip of the beer, blenching at the taste. Lance always hated the taste of alcohol, especially the cheap kind, but he’s always had liked the buzz that came with it. He had never been crazy drunk before, but he has come close.

 

The guys at the karaoke machine handed off the microphone to two guys that looked out of place. One had full rim glasses that covered up half his face, and an anime t-shirt. The other had obvious dyed-black hair that cascaded over half of his face and a black long sleeve, which was unusual, considering it was the middle of June. They were arguing over what song to choose, and it was obvious that most eyes on the room were on them.

 

The girls next to him started snickering, and Lance felt a cringe shudder through his body when he realized they chose _The Black Parade_ by My Chemical Romance.

 

Lance watches as they belt out the intro perfectly, and suddenly he’s fixated on them. It’s hard not to, the stark contrast of rock from the R&B songs that were playing in the backyard. He can’t stop staring as they rocked out to the guitar, and he can’t say he didn’t feel a wave of second-hand embarrassment. Nevertheless, there was another emotion that crept up his neck.

 

Envy.

 

In truth, he couldn’t help but feel envious. It really must be nice, not giving a shit about what others think about you. Even if they both had questionable tastes in fashion and music, they still owned it, surrounded by people who had every intention of making fun of them. Lance always puts up a front. He makes people think that he’s always himself, that his heart is always on his sleeve. That he’s always the funny, wise-cracking friend. In reality, he’s not. As much as he denies it, he’s never really acted out on how he wants to act. When he’s with his mom, he behaves the way she wants him to. When he’s with his friends, he behaves the way they expect him to. And when he’s by himself, he acts the way he strives to be. Maybe, in a perfect world, Lance would like to rock out to his secret emo song obsession at a party and openly admit that _yes_ , he did like watching anime.

 

But it wasn’t a perfect world, and all Lance could do was lay back, and spectate the lives of other people in their perfect worlds. Because in his reality, he wasn’t the main character. He was always going to be the supporting character in someone else’s extravagant story, and it fucking _sucked_. He takes a big swing of his drink, bitterly.

 

“Enjoying the show?” A familiar voice says next to him, and he almost spits out his drink.

 

Rolo chuckled next to him, patting his back while Lance is coughing up a storm. The couple next to him glared, then went back to their conversation. He manages to collect himself.

 

“Don’t scare me like that,” Lance choked out, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

 

Rolo raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

 

Lance makes a face, and leans back on the wall. They’re still rocking out to karaoke, one of them hopping on the table and singing his heart out. He must have been really drunk. When he goes to take a sip of his drink, he realized the beer can was already empty. He mentally cursed at himself.

 

“Ran out already?” Rolo mused. He held up two beer bottles in each hand, a sly grin cracked over his face.

 

Lance mumbles a ‘thanks’ as he accepts the offering. He pops open the cap, and the smell instantly filled his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose, but took a sip anyway.

 

“Don’t you have friends to hang out with?” Lance asked Rolo.

 

“They didn’t come,” he responded simply. He nudged Lance with his elbows playfully. “so I guess you’re stuck with me. Besides, we’re friends, right?”

 

 _Right_ , Lance internally scoffed to himself. He was friends with Nyma. She was a person she hung out with regularly. Did hanging out with Rolo while they were still broken up break the bro code? Was there even a bro code for friendships with a girl and a guy? He was still bitter at the realization that he wasn’t real friends with anybody. Rolo wasn’t going to listen to him cry about what happened a few weeks prior, or listen to what was happening to him now. Or help Lance with his homework when he chooses not to ask anybody cause he didn’t want to be a burden. Or get him food without him asking. Or anything that apparently real friends did.

 

But in that fleeting moment, with a gaze so intense, Lance was willed to accept his offer of friendship. Even if it was just for the night. Even if Nyma and Rolo never got back together and that gave him no excuse to ever hang out with Rolo again. God knows he needs it. So he took the leap.

 

That was his second mistake. His first was going to that stupid party at all.

 

Lance nods, a smirk on his face. “Then, _friend,_ what do you plan on doing?”

 

Third mistake. Rolo grin mirrors his as he grabs his wrist towards the kitchen, and the party finally starts.

 

Rolo is insistent that they take a couple shots at the dining area, where students were daring each other to see how much one could take before spewing their guts. There was already a fairly large group by the time they got there, and Lance waved at classmates he had recognized. He convinced Lance that it would be shame to waste some perfectly good whiskey, and to have one or two shots instead. Instead, Lance took four, because he hates himself and the taste of whiskey, while everyone was cheering him on. The alcohol started to get to him.

 

He doesn’t know when, but they’re suddenly playing beer pong with a couple other girls that randomly showed up- wait, no, it was the group of girls that were standing next to Lance, and they suddenly became very, very clingy to him. He wanted to tell them to get off of him, because close proximity really wasn’t anyone’s friend when they already down about four beers and a couple of shots. But he couldn’t, because Rolo had a stupid smirk on his face when he got another ball in the cup, making Lance drink another fucking cup.

 

At one point in the game, one of the girls was getting too friendly, and he told her to fuck off or something of the sorts. He can’t remember to save his life.

 

Rolo had unfortunately won the beer pong game, and was teasing Lance about it for the rest of the night, because isn’t a football player’s hand eye coordination suppose to be impeccable? Lance told him because he was tipsy. Rolo looked tipsy too, and something else. Something else.

 

They laughed the whole night, and yeah, they were definitely drunk, because Lance started fucking dying at a picture with a cat with disproportionate body parts, and Rolo was _giggling_. Not that low chuckle that he does because he’s so fucking cool or whatever, but he’s giggling like a kid.

 

Lance can’t help but think that, hey, Rolo is really actually a human being. Like, a real person with feelings and personality besides being one of the stoners behind school. He’s not just Nyma’s on and off again boyfriend that follows her wherever she goes, and he’s not just some guy that happens to be in Lance’s classes sometimes. He’s a teenager, with friends and emotions, who he learned liked listening to Diana Ross as much as he liked listening to AC/DC. Who has two younger sisters that he loves with his entire heart. Who was allergic to cats but had a soft spot for them.

 

Maybe Lance was the selfish one, who thought all the world’s problems revolved around him.

 

“You’re not selfish,” Rolo said softly. “you’re one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever met.”

 

Oh. He said that out loud.

 

He doesn’t remember what happens after that because next thing he knew was that he was in the backyard. It was a pretty beautiful backyard in rich people standards. There were a bunch of fruit trees and flower beds that looked like they were being treated with care and love. There were a couple of tiny water fountains with little cupids and a gazebo with fairy lights. It would have been beautiful if it wasn’t thrashed with drunk teenagers and loud party music.

 

Lance was one of those loud teenagers, unfortunately. In fact, he was also a drunk teenager, because he remembers downing two _more_ beers at the same time, with Rolo doing the same thing. Ezor has dragged them to the gazebo for a couple of drinks, but when Lance refused, she just had to dare him to, because since when did Lance McClain pass up on a dare?

 

To make a long story short, it ended up with Lance and Rolo getting thrown in the pool after getting a little too rowdy with their drinks. Fortunately, Lance was a pretty good swimmer, he’s lived next to the beach most of his life. Unfortunately, Lance was not as good as a swimmer when he was drunk, because it led to a bunch of flailing arms and having Rolo pull him out of the pool when he accidentally swam to the deep end instead of the shallow end.

 

Ezor, as per usual, was doubling up in laughter at him. He pouted at her as she handed him a Lightning McQueen towel with a fit of giggles and a phone in her hand.

 

“You guys should probably wash up in the guest room,” she snickered, and he hit her with the towel. “it’s next to the downstairs bathroom. There’s a bunch of idiots here who dumped their drinks into the pool.”

 

“Thanks for the warning,” he glared. “you know, before you pushed us in.”

 

She shrugged and patted his back, going to talk to Acxa, who was sitting on the swinging bench by herself, headphones in.

 

He felt like a wet seal, and looked like one too. His hair was sticking to his forehead, and it wasn’t in the cool way like when he was sweating after a two hour practice and there were a cute group of girls watching him. His shirt and short sagged on him like he was melting, and the worst part was, it was _cold_. Why would it be cold in the summer?

 

Rolo was no better. His long hair was drenched and soaking, dripping in the spot. His white t-shirt, unlike Lance’s sagginess, was hugging his chest and stomach, leaving little to whatever imagination Lance had. The baggy grey sweatpants Rolo was wearing weren’t as kind to the eyes as the shirt was, and it made him look like MC Hammer.

 

He smiled at him. “We should probably get dry.”

 

Lance just idly nodded and they made way to the guest room with him.

 

The guest room, as he guessed it, was pretty nice too, just like everything else in that house. There was a big, king-sized bed, with a bunch of fluffy pillows Lance swore he saw at Ikea the previous week. The sheets were folded nicely, and there was a faux fur blankets draped over it. In the corner, there was a bathroom. It was small, but it was still a personal bedroom bathroom.

 

“Jesus, my shirt smells like booze and chlorine,” Rolo groaned as he lifted his shirt over his torso to smell it. He retched in dramatized disgust as he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. “Never using that shirt again.”

 

Drunkenly, Lance took a moment to gaze over Rolo’s upper body. No one would’ve have guessed it, from the way that his clothes sagged over his figure, but Rolo was in good shape. He was more of the lean and muscular type, a bit like Lance himself, but was more towards the lean side. There were a few scars that littered his torso, ranging from what looked to be cat scratches to a gash that adorned the side of his stomach. Baggy clothes did not do him justice.

 

Hold up. It wasn’t weird for Lance to talk about another dude like that, was it? Rolo did have a good body, Lance was merely pleasantly shocked that his drinking buddy was healthy. It’s hard _not_ to notice the abs and the back muscles. It was just Lance admiring another guy’s body because that’s what bros do. Bros compliment other bros all the time.

 

“Take a picture,” Rolo winked, snapping Lance out of his thoughts. “It’ll last longer.”

 

He blinked. That was _not_ something dude-bros did.

 

Lance numbly nodded, turning his back away from Rolo. An impending flush crept its way through his face like a worm, and he struggled to keep it contained. What had Rolo meant by that? Was Lance being creepy by staring at another dude-bro’s rippling abs and chiseled chest? Did Rolo get the wrong impression? Because Lance would immediately apologize if he made him uncomfortable, it’s not like he actually meant it in any other context besides-

 

“Dude,” Rolo interrupts Lance’s thoughts again. “You’ve been trying to get that shirt off for a good three minutes.”

 

 _Oh_ , Lance thinks dumbly, looking at the weird way his arms were twisted and that his head was stuck in the shirt hole.

 

“Let me help,” Rolo offers, but doesn’t let Lance decide, because he’s already helping Lance shuffle out of the weird contraption that was a plain fucking t-shirt.

 

Lance gives out a few light-hearted protests, like he always does, drunk or sober. He hates it when people baby him. Growing up, the only person who treated him like a baby was his mom, and she quickly grew out of that phase. His tíos and tías never really gave a shit about him, only bringing him up in conversations when they gossip about his mother having _another_ child. So, he kept to himself, even at a young age. He’s always hated asking his mom for stuff.

 

Rolo chuckles. “How drunk are you, on a scale from one to ten?”

 

“I’m a solid ten out of ten, babe,” Lance slurs, before he can even register what came out of his mouth.

 

“ _Definitely_ drunk,” he muttered and he peeled the shirt off of Lance, who only spoke in a fit of mumbles at the moment. “Oop, there ya go.”

 

Getting that stupid piece of shit shirt off his body was a euphoria Lance didn’t know he needed. Lance’s whole world was surrounded by the smell of alcohol, the mere smell of it overkill. It made him nauseous.

 

What was not euphoric, however, is when Lance tripped when he took a step, falling face first and ass up.

 

Rolo straight up burst out in laughter, and it made Lance’s throat hitch. It wasn’t like his low, deep chuckles he made throughout the night that made him more appealing and cool, the type of laugh that made Nyma swoon. It wasn’t a fit of giggles that he made when he had a bit too much to drink, no. It was a hearty laugh. Sure, it was a little rough around the edges, the strain obvious in his voice, but he was genuinely laughing. It was the biggest victory of the night.

 

Laughter was contagious, because Lance started snickering after getting over his initial shock. The snickers soon belted our into full on howling, and suddenly, they were both in a chorus of laughter. Rolo was rolling (no pun intended) on the bed, crying of laughter, and Lance struggled to find a place on the bed as well, too weak to even get up. It was a scene out of a modern day film. Two guys completely drunk out their asses, shirtless, and _laughing_.

 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Rolo wheezes out, after the catch a chance to breathe.

 

Lance hummed, not even feeling a bit peeved that Rolo was leaning closely to him, so close. He didn’t even register the fact that he knew that Lance was feeling down in the first place.

 

“To be honest,” Rolo mused, raking fingers through his damp hair. “I had no idea what to think of you. When we first met, I thought you were just going to be another annoying jock that Nyma likes to hang out with, that I had to make sure you didn’t try anything funny with her. I found out that you two went on a date once, and that only fueled my paranoia even more. But you’re, like, way different than what I expected. Even if you knew that Nyma never liked you, you stuck by her side because she needed you, and honestly, she needed a friend during that god awful time. I remember how much worse she was before you decided to take things into your own hands. She started laughing again, going out again, she became happier.”

 

Lance, for once, felt completely sober as he listened to Rolo. He dissected every word over and over again. Did he really do that for Nyma?

 

Rolo furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “You started acting weird a few weeks back. There were rumors about what happened, one sticking out more than the rest, but no one knew for sure. Even if you acted like you were fine, everyone knew you weren’t. I remember when Nyma came up to me in tears, because she didn’t know what to do. Something about you being with her through thick n’ thin, and her being insecure about you distancing yourself away.”

 

Ouch. He felt a pang in his chest.

 

“She was insistent that I help her figure out what the hell was wrong with you,” Rolo continued, fiddling with his thumbs. He looked hesitant. “...but I didn’t want to. Said that it was your personal business and that you’d tell her when you needed to. Nyma screamed at me for being a lazy fuck, I told her she was being too nosy for her own good, and we continued to argue to each other for hours, to the point where we didn’t even talk about you anymore. We broke up after.”

 

“W-What?” Lance gaped. “You broke up because of _me_?”

 

Rolo shrugged. “Not really. It was a long time coming anyway.”

 

“Still,” he argued, sitting back. “I never wanted to ruin your guys’ relationship. I mean-“

 

“ _Lance_ ,” Rolo said earnestly. He looked up, to be met with fierce eyes that Lance finally recognized as hazel. He couldn’t look away. “It’s not your fault.”

 

He stared at Lance with such intensity it took his breath away, and Lance could finally start appreciating it. Maybe if they had met a little sooner, without Nyma or with, maybe they could have been the best of friends. Rolo was a down-to-earth person, and when you push back his facade, he was incredible. He was blunt and honest, but he also was kind and patient. Rolo was the type of guy who would sacrifice himself over and over for a friend, for a guy he barely knew. Maybe they could start being friends. Maybe Lance could finally open up to someone.

 

It was a sweet sentiment, for a moment.

 

That was until a pair of lips met his.

 

 _What_.

 

Lance stiffened when he felt Rolo kiss him, eyes widening in shock. It was rough, obviously, Rolo’s lips were too puckered and Lance wasn’t reciprocating at all. The other boy’s hair was tickling his face, still damp and still very cold, and they both tasted like beer. He couldn’t even move, because what the absolute _hell_ was happening? What the fuck? The fuck what? Did Rolo like him this whole time, and Lance was just too oblivious to notice? He could have _sworn_ that all of their interactions were just bros being bros, because they were the best of bros. But holy shit, it wasn’t, because Rolo was flirting with him the entire night, intentionally. From the drinks, to the off-handed compliments, to the winking, oh my god.

 

If it had been any girl, Lance would have picked it up in a heartbeat, because he’s flirted with many, _many_ girls before. He’s never been with a guy before that wanted him in non-platonic ways.

 

Against his better judgement, he kisses back, and they’re making out.

 

It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, but it’s because Lance doesn’t know what’s he’s doing or why. They both reek of pool water and booze, and it messes with his senses. Rolo’s pulling him closer, and they both become more heated, more desperate. Rolo has Lance’s face in his hands, and it squished his cheeks in, and they continue this for what felt like hours, felt like years, and he didn’t even care. Lance hands are on Rolo’s waist, bringing him in closer as well. His brain is fuzzy and dead, and he doesn’t want think about anything else, except Rolo. Rolo, who was in some of his classes. Rolo, who liked weed but made sure Lance felt comfortable around him by not doing it. Rolo, who convinced Lance to come to a party to help him take his mind off of things. Rolo, who didn’t even pester Lance about what was bothering him. Rolo, the one person in three weeks that made Lance not hate every living moment. Rolo-

 

Rolo, who was a _guy_.

Lance felt his heart sink, and he almost throws up on the spot.

 

He wasn’t a religious person at all. He went to church a few times with his mom, the visits becoming less frequent as his siblings moved out one by one. Lance still didn’t know how to cite a bible, and he only remembers the stories that were most popular, but there were a few things he did remember, shit that everyone tells him, that the church always reminded him about. To never lie, never murder, never waver your faith, and to never be with another person of the same gender. He never really cared, because it never really applied to him. But his mom? His mom was a pretty religious person, who was born into a heavily religious family. What would she think, that her youngest son had sort of feelings for another boy? Would, would she _disown_ him?

 

Everyone thought that Lance was as straight as a ruler, even Lance himself. What would Dak think, his arrogant teammate that was always opinionated in everyone else’s business, think of a guy who likes other guys? He would laugh in his face, call Lance some ugly words, and never associate with him again. The thought of his coach Shiro, a veteran and football coach, who alluded every ounce of masculinity, think of Lance coming up with another guy? He would look at him in horror, sure, and probably kick him off the team. His relatives would never talk to him again, as if they even liked talking to him in the first place. Everyone at school would be absolutely _repulsed_ by him, his teammates would be too scared that he would try to get with them or stare at them in the locker room. They would isolate him.

 

Lance wanted to be normal. There was nothing normal about this.

 

What would Nyma think, one of the closest people he thinks could be his friend? That not only was he the reason they broke up in the first place, but because he was also macking with her kind of boyfriend in the middle of the party?

 

She would hate- no, she would _loathe_ him.

 

Everyone would be disgusted by his very existence.

 

He pulls away, like he’s been stung, like it _hurt_ . Because it did hurt, it hurt so much that he even felt that way at _all_. Rolo looks at him for a moment, with dazed confusion and lips still puffy, then the ashy-blonde haired teen’s eyes widen with horror as well.

 

“I _can’t_ ,” Lance croaked out, not meeting Rolo’s eyes. He got up immediately.

 

God, was he going to throw up? He felt like he was going to throw up. He hated throwing up. Lance grabbed at his shirt, wet and on the floor. His eyes felt hot, felt painful.

 

“Wait-“ he heard Rolo call as he slammed the door behind him, shoving the shirt over his head to avoid suspicion.

 

He walked through the living room, where the group of girls were whispering to each other, glaring at him. Someone was singing some sappy breakup song while doing karaoke, and everyone was cheering them on. He made a way towards the family room, where people were waving at him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even look at them, because he just needed to get out of that fucking house. Lance even avoided Ezor, who called out his name excitedly as he walked out the front door.

 

He threw up in one of the rose bushes in her front lawn, to the disgust of some party-goers who decided to stay on the front porch. They yelled some incoherent gibberish at him. Lance flipped them off.

 

Lance can’t remember what happened or how he got home that night, but all he remembered was waking up Sunday morning with his head in the toilet for an hour. He was hoping that he would have just forgotten the whole experience in the morning, hoping his drunk shenanigans would stay that way.

 

Unfortunately, he remembered. Everything. As well as Rolo, apparently.

 

That summer, he decided he just needed to forget it. He took on every single practice Shiro had assigned, as well as the morning boot camps to stay in shape. Lance trained and trained and trained that summer, focusing on football season that was coming up, because he _had_ to be the QB that year, he just had to. Being the school’s quarterback would mean not only having one of the most coveted positions on the team, but also a less chance of anyone ever assuming _anything_ of him. Every practice was just another way to get rid of whatever confusion Rolo left him, because Lance didn’t like guys. He couldn’t. So he had to forget it even happened, like it was a weird fever dream. Rolo never kissed him that night, they didn’t make out, and he didn’t make Lance feel something other than platonic. Lance couldn’t like Rolo. He couldn’t afford to.

 

He couldn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

Three months later, feelings for Rolo completely vanquished, and Lance was dealing with the consequences of his actions.

 

As expected, his mom refused to talk to him the whole weekend. She actively avoided him whenever she could, coming up with every excuse not to see her youngest son. First it was groceries, which took, like, three hours. Then, it was pilates, then it was some family emergency that apparently didn’t involve Lance, at all, and then it was a Enrique Iglesias concert that she couldn’t miss. What did Lance know, anyways. He got all the information from Izaac. He went out of his room one day to grab some food, because he wasn’t planning on starving the whole weekend, and when he saw her in the kitchen doing paperwork, he made a beeline towards the chips. As he was about to grab the bag, his mom got up, _literally pretended_ that Lance didn’t exist, and comically snatched the bag before his fingers could even touch it. She sat back down and ate the chips. He stared at her incredulously, shook his head, and went back to his room.

 

His mom was a pretty petty person. He could see where he gets it from.

 

Hunk didn’t text him at all that weekend, so either Keith told him what happened or Pidge. Lance didn’t want to think about the person who gets along with everyone not getting along with him, so he tries not to. Pidge, on the other hand, was just fucking flaming Lance. Every single moment that weekend, she made fun of him for how absolutely idiotic he was. She sent him a snap of her boiling pasta and captioned it ‘but this fucking noodle is totally straight, right Lance’?

 

Izaac, for the better (or worse) part, didn’t give a shit. At all. When Lance told him what happened, because he felt as if he was obligated to because Izaac wasn’t there when it all went down, Izaac laughed at him. To his fucking face. Then he stopped and went back to his game. The whole weekend, Izaac pestered Lance about leaving his goddamn room for once instead of wallowing in the corner of his bed awaiting suspension. He told him that he should be thankful he didn’t have to go to school that week.

 

Lance shuddered at the word. _Suspension_. There was no doubt in his mind that it was the fate waiting for him the moment he walked into the principal’s office. There had been kids who have been suspended for less than what he did.

 

It was going to leave a really hard to fill dent on his record. Not only was it a punishment for fighting, but it was a punishment he had to deal with for the rest of his high school career. He’s been told his whole life that universities and colleges will look into if you were a troublemaker in high school. Now, instead of losing his chance at a football scholarship, he might have lost his chance at academic scholarships. Not that the football thing would have mattered anyway. There was a high possibility he was kicked off the team as well.

 

That was the one thing that kept him up at night. It haunted his dreams sometimes, a living nightmare for any aspiring athlete. Getting kicked from the team was one of his greatest fears, enough to make his bones shake. Not only because he based his entire schedule around the sport, but because he’s worked his entire life for it. He went through intensive training for years, becoming a better and better football player as time progressed, to the point where he was one of the most valuable players on his team. The thought of it being stripped away from him, so easily, scared him.

 

It might seem over-dramatic, but it was his entire _life_.

 

He woke up Monday morning, groggily. His slammed his alarm clock so hard that he thought that he broke it. He groaned loudly, earning a scowl from Izaac, who was still trying to sleep. Lance really, _really_ didn’t want to get up that day. H

 

He looked into his closet and wanted to pass out. There were a bunch of name-brand shirts and sweatshirts, a good collection of nice jeans he had. Instead, he opted for a pair of gray sweatpants and a dark blue t-shirt that fit him nicely, because who was he trying to impress? It wasn’t like he was going to be there very long, he was going to get suspended. There was no reason for him to wear that new shirt he brought the previous week.

 

Lance decided to skip breakfast and went straight to the door, putting on a pair on socks with his slides.

 

Walking to the bus was a pain in the ass. His neighbor’s kids were being loud, per usual, but they seemed more loud than usual, spewing some random shit about each other’s moms or something. The old lady that lived next door somehow had even _more_ Trump merchandise on her front lawn as she watered her flowers. It took everything in his being not to just fucking grab the sign and throw it away, and he plugged in his earphones and stalked his way.

 

When he arrived to the bus stop, he noticed something unusual. Pidge wasn’t there, sitting on the ground, talking about her opinion on famous book series or the current political agenda. Figures, she probably hitched a ride with Hunk, because it was quicker.

 

The bus ride was… something. He avoided sitting in the back, instead sitting near the middle, where the freshmen sit. They were so loud and obnoxious, it made him want to bang his head repeatedly against the window. They talked about the weirdest stuff, from the time a freshmen set off a fire in the girl’s bathroom and rating people on the frosh football team. It didn’t help that he could practically feel Acxa glaring daggers at the back of his neck, and everytime he glanced back, he immediately whipped his head away, scared that she might actually kill him.

 

The bus stopped erupted yesterday, which everyone was used to at that point. The bus driver droned on something about gum on the bus before she dismissed them.

 

The moment he stepped out of the bus, there was an administrator already waiting for him. Jeez.

 

“Come with me, Mr. McClain,” he said, and ushered him towards the front of the school. Ezor was gawking at him, and he shot her a look that was between pleading and glaring, indicating that she should probably not blab to everyone about it. She just grinned wolfishly at him, and he knew his efforts were in vain.

 

He made eye contact with Acxa, who looked like she was having an internal argument with herself and with Lance. One moment, she looks like she wants to kill him, and the on the other, she looks like she pitiful towards him. He wants none of those looks.

 

While walking up the steps, students of every grade stared at him, whispering. No doubt that everyone had probably seen the video of both of Arusia’s top two players going WWE on each other in the locker room. They stared his his face and knuckles. His face was littered with bruises, and his knuckles were scraped.

 

The administrator shooed people out of the way towards the principal's office, and Lance didn’t know if he should feel embarrassed that he was being manhandled by a forty-something year old, or flattered that people actually gave a shit. Arusia was a school with a near perfect record, and fights were not as common. Lance and Keith were the first people to fight the entire school-year, and it was relatively early.

 

They were getting closer and closer to the principal’s office, and Lance felt his heart rapidly speed up. Fuck. He couldn’t do this.

 

“Ms. Trigel is currently having a meeting,” the administrator explains, opening the office door. “She’ll be out shortly. Just stay in the waiting area until she’s ready to see you.”

 

Lance walks into the waiting room. It’s fairly large and spacious, and it was white with splotches of beige. The school logo was plastered on the front desk, rather obnoxiously, but there was no one at the desk. There were many plants that decorated the room, making it green and lively. There was a bowl of peppermints on the desk, and the many, many academic awards Arusia received were placed proudly on the walls. The right side where a wall should be was just a giant window, making the sunlight shine through the room beautifully, giving it a tint of yellow.

 

Lance turns to his right to the waiting seats and he wants to die.

 

On one of the two seats sat a boy with a familiar mullet hairstyle, jet-black and provoking. He was looking at the ground, hands in the pockets of his jacket, scowling. His black-jeaned legs were stretched out.

 

 _Keith_.

 

Because the universe really does like to fuck with him, surprise, there’s only two seats, meaning that he has to sit next to a possibly hostile Keith. He was considering standing up, but his legs had been hurting since Friday, so it was probably not a good idea to overuse them.

 

He takes a seat next to him, hesitantly. Keith had most definitely noticed Lance now, scoffing as he turned his head the opposite direction.

 

Lance considers his options. He could just sit here and wait for Trigel to hurry up and accept his impending punishment. But that was boring, and Lance wasn’t fond of boring things. He could argue with Keith some more, but that could end in two possible scenarios; they both start fighting, or they both start fighting and Keith actually breaks one of Lance’s bones this time. Or maybe…

 

No. No way. That option was two risky, and Lance could end up humiliated. Apologizing to Keith would mean Lance having to suck up his pride and he didn’t really like to do that.

 

However, the whole thing had been bugging him all weekend. Lance had said some pretty nasty stuff, and while most of it didn’t make Keith nudge, one of them made Keith snap. He felt awful, honestly, and dumb. Pidge had explained the whole situation to him like he was a child, and in all honesty, he acted like one. Lance didn’t want Keith to spend the rest of his life thinking he was a raging homophobe. At least he could clear up a few things.

 

He swallowed his pride, and embraced humility.

 

“Look,” Lance started, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I didn’t- I didn’t know you were gay.”

 

Lance didn’t- couldn’t look Keith in the eye. He was so anxious about this. Was his voice too high-pitched? Too quiet? Did his question sound sarcastic, or completely devoid of emotion at all? In hindsight, Lance shouldn’t be so worried about apologizing this much. It’s just a misunderstanding, right? He was stupid and ignorant and is willing to admit it, he always is if he’s in the wrong, but there’s something about apologizing to Keith that made him nervous.

 

Because in the past few weeks, Keith’s opinion suddenly mattered very, _very_ much. How could it not? Despite constant bickering between them in class, in practice, in anywhere, Lance could respect that Keith was a smart person. Temperamental, sure, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew his weaknesses just as he know his strengths. Every moment he was on the field, his eyes were analytical. He even went to that stupid summer camp thing with Acxa, meaning he _had_ to some sort of a brain. Keith’s opinion mattered a lot to Lance.

 

And it didn’t help his ego too much when Keith laughed humorlessly at his comment. Ouch.

 

“Are you _joking_?” Keith snorted.

 

Yikes.

 

Lance spluttered. “What? No!”

 

“Yeah,” Keith scoffed, arms crossed, looking like he was all cool and laid-back, which is what Lance desperately wanted to be at the moment. “ _Okay_. Sure you didn’t.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Lance didn’t know if Keith didn’t believe him or didn’t care. Or both “I’m serious. I had no idea.”

 

Keith turned to faced him, annoyed, and it made Lance’s heart pause.

 

It was the first time in a couple days that he actually saw Keith’s face clearly. His lips were busted in the middle and dry, like he hasn’t put lip balm on in months. His pale skin made home for tiny scratches that wouldn’t be bad enough to scar, but were still _there_. Lance couldn’t tell if he got those from the fight or from the field. What caught Lance’s eye was a patch over Keith’s right cheekbone, indicating a more prominent, but hopefully not permanent, scar on his face.

 

Regardless, Lance knew that every girl at school would still be all over him. At least Lance knew that he wasn’t the only one who looked like shit.

 

“I don’t know if you’re stupid,” Keith huffed. “or stupid.”

 

“I’m going to go with the second one,” Lance quipped.

 

“How could you _not_?” Keith said incredulously. “It was so obvious. It’s like saying water is wet.”

 

He laughed nervously. “Actually, water isn’t wet-“

 

“ _Lance_ , I seriously don’t care.”

 

He winced.

 

“Sorry, I just, I mean-” Lance apologizes, looking down, fiddling with his thumbs. God, this was so embarrassing. Why did anyone let him open his mouth. Ever. He became hyper-aware of how stupid the words came out of his mouth, but that didn’t stop the next ones.

 

“You didn’t really, like, _act_ gay.”

 

And the moment those six words fell from his lips, he immediately regretted it. What the hell. Who actually being says shit like that in the twenty-first century. Fuck. He single-handedly experienced the worst cringe his body could ever be put through. How was he supposed to follow up on this. The worst part was that he did it to himself. Fuck.

 

Honestly, he wouldn’t mind if Keith punched him a couple more times. Lance probably deserved it.

 

“What the fuck do you mean, act gay?” Keith says. “I’m pretty sure I acted _gay_ enough.”

 

    “I-” Lance faltered. He swallowed. He regretted _everything_. “You just, don’t fit the image of the stereotypical gay guy. Like, you don’t really hang out with the gay kids at all, I think one of them hates you, by the way. And I think another wants to bang you. And, no offense-”

 

Keith sighed. “At this point Lance, you could run me over with a truck and I wouldn’t be offended.”

 

“-you don’t look, like, _gay_ . You don’t dress good, you’re hair is messy and greasy as fuck, and you’re not obsessed with the way you look. You’re not interested in makeup or anything like that, you’re _buff_ as shit, you avoid the gay club like they killed your first-born, and you have girls hitting you up every hour. I just- I just thought you were a very straight guy who didn’t care about dating.”

 

A wave of silence washed over both of them, the quiet of the office overtaking the conversation. Lance could hear his heart beating out of his chest, looking at him in anticipation. He was waiting for something, _anything_ , to come out of Keith’s mouth.

 

After a hot minute, Keith quirked an eyebrow. “Seems like you thought this through.”

 

“I thought about it since Pidge told me,” he admitted.

 

Pause.

 

“Pidge told you I’m gay?”

 

Abort mission. Fuck fuck _fuck_ -

 

He winced. “Sorry, don’t blame Pidge for that. I kinda forced it out of her.”

 

Lance would seriously nerf-gun himself in the head if Keith blamed Pidge for telling him about Keith’s sexuality. She was seriously the only level-headed person who didn’t take sides in the situation, and actually made Lance realize what he did was wrong. That this was more than just the game. Not to mention that if Keith did mention it to Pidge, it could very well end very poorly for Lance. The little gremlin was a tech genius, she could very well possibly leak nudes that Lance didn’t even _take_ and resurface a deleted tweet he made when he was eleven about him hating cats or some stupid shit. Being an enemy to Pidge was a poor decision to make.

 

Thankfully, Keith didn’t even look mad, or even shocked that Pidge half-hazardly told Lance about Keith’s secret, albeit a poorly-kept secret. That apparently everyone knew before Lance could even comprehend that maybe Keith acted strange around girls.

 

“...it’s whatever,” Keith decided, after a minute or two. He crosses his arms and his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, like he was deciphering something. “It wasn’t even a secret anyway.”

 

Well. That settles his internal argument.

 

“It’s just, Lance,” Keith started, slight confusion and cold bitterness written on his face. His eyes met his. “I’m still confused on _how_ you didn’t know. Your friends knew I was gay, they gave me shit about it everyday, in _front_ of you.”

 

“Really?” Lance said, surprised.

 

“Dak literally called me a fruitcake and drove off,” Keith deadpanned.

 

Now that he thought about it, there was nothing really surprising about Dak giving Keith hell. Maybe if it was Nyma or Rolo, but it seemed like something the guy would do. Despite Keith being the starting quarterback, Dak would have probably given up on it, considering how good the raven-haired boy was. Unless there was an ulterior motive to the constant seething. Lance is just shocked that it flew over his head so many times.

 

Oh. Lance remembered that.

 

He rubbed the back of his neck timidly. “I didn’t even know fruitcake was a bad thing.”

 

Keith sighed. “It’s old but still as effective.”

 

Lance groaned, leaning back into his chair, hands on his face. “This entire fucking time, god, I’m so fucking _stupid_ -“

 

“I can vouch for that.”

 

“Jesus _christ_ , Keith,” he intoned, looking at the him through his fingers. “Seriously, dude, there’s a bunch of assholes making fun of you and you just took it for _weeks_? I can’t imagine having that much willpower.”

 

“Those assholes are what you call your friends,” Keith said dryly. “and you know what happened at my last school. Everyone does. I’m supposed to not get into any trouble here, but look where we are now.”

 

Lance feels the lump in his throat build up in his throat. Keith really did look like shit, dark circles and tired expression. Cuts littering his skin. He just looks so _done_. Lance has everything to lose, scholarships, his place on the team, everything. He’s already lost his own mom’s respect. However, Keith looks like he’s already lost it all. Despite everything Lance disliked about the kids from Garrison Prep High School, he knew that it was a very, very good school, and very exclusive. Getting into it meant that your bright future was set in stone. Getting kicked out of it, which rarely if not at all happened, meant something else. He can’t imagine what Keith’s parents must feel about it, or what shit Keith had to go through with snotty assholes like the kids from Garrison Prep.

 

“I-“ Lance starts, but the words choke up in his throat. He clears it. “I’m sorry, Keith. For calling you… _that_. For making you think that I hated you because you were gay when the only reason I treated you like shit was because I was jealous that you were starting QB and I wasn’t. And for punching you and all that stuff. I’m sorry.”

 

He thought he would feel a wave of relief when he apologized, like a responsibility was lifted off his shoulders when he said that. But he still felt as tense as ever, because Keith was staring at him, stunned, mouth parted. God, apologizing was so hard, but it was harder to see someone contemplating if they were going to forgive you or not.

 

He expected one out of two things. The first was that Keith scoffed at him and punched him in the face and never talk to him, which was fair. The other was that Keith would forgive him and they would have an agreement that they would go on with their lives with mutual existence.

 

He didn’t expect Keith to say, “And?”

 

Lance snapped his head up and furrowed his eyebrows. “ _What_?”

 

“What else are you sorry for?” Keith inquired, motioning for Lance to go on.

 

“I-I mean,” Lance stammered. “I’m pretty sure I got everything that I did that was fucked up. If you’re talking about the time that I threw a paper at your head during history, that was meant for someone else and was accidentally aimed at your head-“

 

“ _No_ ,” Keith exasperated. “The part about the plays. Where you admit you were wrong.”

 

Wait.

 

Is he fucking serious?

 

“Are you fucking serious?” Lance reiterated out loud, spluttering. “I pour out an apology from the depths of my soul and you’re still hungover about the fucking _play_?”

 

“Yes,” Keith stubbornly says, crossing his arms like a child, and Lance can’t believe he ever felt sorry for this absolute idiot. “We would have pulled through if you just agreed with the me in the first place!”

 

“No, your play was absolute _horseshit_.”

 

“ _No_ , it wasn’t-“

 

“I can’t believe this,” Lance moaned, his hand on his forehead from an oncoming headache. “I take back everything I said.”

 

“Oh?” Keith said with false innocence. “So you admit you’re a raging homophobe?”

 

“I’m not a homophobe, you asshole,” Lance hissed.

 

“At least I’m not the _idiot_ who didn’t realize-“

 

“Joe Jonas wannabe-“

 

“Attention-seeking-“

 

“Bootleg Zuko looking-“

 

“ _Boys_ ,” A cold, and all too familiar female voice echoed through the office. Both Keith and Lance freeze, and Lance feels a chill crawl up his spine. Keith looked like he saw a ghost.

 

Lance forces himself to face the owner of the voice, awkwardly smiling.

 

Principal Trigel stood there, arms crossed on her chest. She had a look of warning and annoyance spread across her face, looking like she was physically restraining herself from knocking both of them across the head. Grey pencil skirt, dark forest green blouse, and a slicked back brown ponytail with hints of greying, Trigel was a force to be reckoned with. She was a tall, intimidating Indian woman, who was as scary as principals could get. Not only was she the principal of the entire system that controlled Lance’s life, but she was also pretty good friends with his mom, making life ten times harder for him. Usually, he’s only seen her around school during sports awards and academic awards. Now, sitting in a plastic blue chair with her looming over him, he felt like a fish out of water.

 

Her lips were pursed, as per usual, and she was doing that thing where she glared at two students at the same time, a trick most teachers master. Contemplation, disappointment, and annoyance were etched on her expression, and Lance continued to cower under her fierce gaze.

 

Keith was feeling the heat too. As Lance looked over, he could see his adam’s apple visibly gulp.

 

“If you’re going to fight, _again_ ,” she snapped, thin lips pursed in a scowl. Her finger was tapping on her crossed arm. “Please, restrain yourself from doing so in an academic environment.”

 

Lance didn’t speak, and neither did Keith. He couldn’t even look into her eyes, but he felt her gaze bore into him. He could only imagine the heated gossip that his mom and principal Trigel had over the phone.

 

“Come into my office,” she ordered, and did a one-eighty, heels clicking as she walked back to her office.

 

Keith and Lance looked at each other in worried anticipation, as they reluctantly got up to follow her. Lance took his own backpack when he notice the boy next to him. Keith had a wince of pain flash over his body when he picked up his red duffel bag. As much as Lance probably hated him, he was a bit worried if he could hold his own.

 

However, he knew that Keith wouldn’t want to feel pitied, so he kept to himself.

 

When they finally settled down, Principal Trigel was already seated at her desk. Intimidation rolled over him. Fuck.

 

She took a long, exasperated sigh while putting on her reading glasses. “I assume you both know why you’re in here.”

 

They both nodded. Lance did so, frantically.

 

“In all my years of teaching at this district, I’ve been convinced that this is one of the most prestigious public high schools in the state. Colleagues have congratulated me on my promotion. Incredible athletics, above-average academics, state-recognized art programs,” she explained, looking through the stack on papers she had sitting on her desk. “Arusia is quite impressive.”

 

Principal Trigel hummed when she found the two folders she was looking for, and Lance could make out his I.D. picture next to his full name, as well as Keith’s. No fucking way. Permanent records were actually a thing?

 

“However, every public academic setting has its downfalls,” she mused, looking over Lance’s file. “One has to expect the graffiti in the bathrooms, the illegal substances teenagers sneak into classrooms, some bullying, and naturally, the occasional fights.”

 

Lance was nervous, _really_ nervous. He was twiddling with the ends of his thumbs and his leg was shaking up and down. He found that movement helped calm his anxiety. Keith, on the other hand, kept a blank exterior. His arms were crossed against his chest and he was slumped in a chair. If you looked at him from afar, you would think that he didn’t care about all the trouble he was going to get in. But if you looked into his eyes, you could see the worry.

 

“Of course, they’re more of the same. Girls fighting over a boy, or if one had said something condescending online. Boys fighting when one bumps the other in the shoulder, or just to amplify their faux masculinity,” she said, rubbing her temples.

 

“How the _hell_ am I going to explain to the district office that you both fought over football?”

 

Lance jumped at her profanity, not expecting the sudden snap. Even Keith furrowed his eyebrows.

 

She motioned at the both of them expectantly. “I urge you, please explain.”

 

Lance gaped. “Well, I-I mean-“

 

“It really wasn’t about football-“

 

Principal Trigel put her hand up, urging them to stop. The voice in his throat had died, and Keith bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from continuing. “I forgot to mention that I really don’t care why you two fought. At all. If it was a case of bullying, maybe, but you’re aggression towards each other seemed far more _mutual_ from what I’ve deducted from that distasteful video.”

 

Lance’s eyes shot to the ground in shame.

 

“Standard procedure requires that you both will be given a minimum one week suspension,” she announced, and Lance felt his heart sink farther than what was humanly possible.

 

Of course. No fucking shit. He knew he was going to get suspended the moment they started throwing punches, he’s been thinking about it all weekend. Izaac had been constantly reminding him. But to hear it, out loud, made the consequence a million times more real and a million times more heavier. What would this say about him to colleges and universities? Would they look pass his slightly wobbly record and still accept him? Would he be kicked out the football team? What would happen to _Keith_?

 

His eyes became hot, but he refused to cry. He made it this far without doing so in front of people.

 

“However,” she went on. “I’m a strong believer that suspension is a backwards tactic in trying to discipline students. Why punish students with less school?”

 

His breath hitched.

 

“Not only that, but Mr. McClain, you have an impressive record so far. 4.5 GPA, scholar athlete, and you’ve never gotten into any sort of trouble before,” Trigel notes, flipping through documents. “Other than this minor slip-up, you’re a great student. I wouldn’t expect less from someone raised by Rosa.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Keith clench his jaw.

 

“But _you_ , Mr. Kogane,” she said. “Multiple quarrels at your last school, bad-mouthing teachers, skipping classes. You’re an incredibly smart student, Keith, and an exceptional athlete. However, you’re behavior is far from acceptable. We had a discussion about this when Takashi first enrolled you, and we _did_ discuss the consequences if you were to get into another fight.”

 

Keith mumbled a soft, “Yeah.”

 

She sighed, and leaned back into her chair. “What I’m trying to say is that both of you are students with a lot of potential. Although fighting is inexcusable, I’m not trying to ruin both of your chances at success because of some stupid argument.”

 

It was the most non-formal he’s seen Trigel inside school. She looked stressed and tired and _human_. Lance felt a bit of pity.

 

“I’m well aware that a suspension could ruin your chances at the university of your dreams, Lance,” she said. “And I’m well aware that you can’t afford to get kicked out of _another_ school in your lifetime, Keith, especially right now. Shiro and I have discussed an alternative punishment.”

 

“Alternative punishment?” Keith frowned.

 

“You’re familiar with Allura Altea, right Lance?” Trigel said.

 

“I mean- yeah, I guess you could say-“

 

“Allura is about to graduate this year. In hopes of getting into good universities, she started a volunteer club to look better on her application. It was pretty last minute, since club rush was about two weeks ago, and she’s having a bit of trouble trying to find members,” Trigel explained.

 

She smiled, as friendly as a snake’s. “You are both required to complete fifty volunteer hours _each_ by the end of the year.”

 

“ _What_?” They both gaped at the same time.

 

“Meetings are Tuesday’s after school from three to four-thirty,” she bummed as she put their files back into a drawer.

 

Lance’s head spun, as he blinked. _One hundred_ volunteer hours before the end of the year? How the hell was he supposed to complete that many hours in such a short amount of time? He was a busy student, who had a job, AP classes, practice-

 

“B-But we have practice after school,” Keith tried weakly, to no avail.

 

“That’s not my problem,” she deflected. “Besides, it was Shiro that suggested the alternative punishment.”

 

Lance grimaced. Keith visibly scowled.

 

Of fucking course Shiro would. Takashi Shirogane, the all-American good hearted veteran would recommend that instead of punishing the boys with something that made sense, they would have to do something that took effort. More effort than Lance would deem necessary.

 

“Honestly,” Principal Trigel huffed, adjusting her glasses. She leaned back in her large, black chair. “You should be _thanking_ me. Instead of suspending you and making you both get kicked off the team, I decide to do the merciful thing and give you an option that will not only discipline you, but simultaneously better the community.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Keith sarcastically remarked, making Lance look at him in alarm.

 

“You have two options,” she said. “you either get suspended and get all extracurricular activity privileges taken away from you, or you join a _club_. Tough decision, I know.”

 

Before Keith could open his mouth, Lance beats him to anything he was about to say. “We’ll gladly do the volunteer work.”

 

The other boy glares at him, mouth still slightly open as if he was going to say something. Lance glares at Keith back, hoping it would convince him to shut up. He shuts it, biting the inside of his cheek, looking like he was about to murder someone. Or Lance. Probably Lance.

 

“Good choice, First meeting is tomorrow after school in the art room. I’m sure Allura will be thrilled to have you both there.” she reaffirms, running fingers through the hair of her ponytail. Then, with eyes like a hawk, she poisonously at them. “I’m glad you both are getting along. If, god forbid, there are any more _incidents_ , I’ll be sure they will be handled traditionally that time around. You both can head out now.”

 

Lance nods frantically. “No worries. Thank you for not suspending us.”

 

“Not this time around, McClain,” she mutters lowly.

 

He’s about to get up, but by the time he picked up his backpack, Keith is already stalking out the door, leaving it swinging behind him. The loud stomping of his shoes echoing in the latter part of the office. Lance is quick to follow suit.

 

Lance grabs Keith’s shoulder in the hallway. “Dude, what is your problem?”

 

In retrospect, Lance didn’t mean for the words to come out so condescending. In fact, he had meant it in a sort of way that he was slighted worried but also kind of annoyed that Keith had been so blatantly disrespectful towards Principal Trigel type of way. However, judging by the way Keith growled at him, Lance probably sounded really rude. He could do that sometimes.

 

“I don’t know, Lance,” he snapped, crossing both arms over his chest. “maybe it’s the fact that you practically forced me to do community service, like I was an inmate.”

 

“I was trying to help you, you know,” Lance said. “Not only am I trying to save my own ass, but you look like you can’t afford to get suspended either. You obviously have some issues to work out.”

 

Apparently, what Lance said was not the right combination of words. It looked like a light switched had flickered in Keith eyes. Anger had boiled up in his expression and his face twitched. Lance was almost afraid that Keith was ready to go another round in front of the freaking principal’s office.

“I don’t need your fucking help, McClain,” he snarled, bumping into his shoulder as he walked the opposite direction.

 

Lance wonders if he should follow him.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, let me get this straight,” Bandor says, while his face was stuffed with a combination of a Big Mac and french fries. Lance tries not to get too disgusted as the younger gulps it all down in one go. “Instead of, like, suspending you or whatever, because that’s the most logical and non-time consuming punishment she could’ve done, Trigel makes you do community service? With Allura fucking Altea?”

 

Lunch rush is hectic that time around. Mondays, although hated, were the least stressful days in most student’s schedules, so many opted out for being fast food from the outside. Teachers just didn’t like giving students tests on the first day of the week, so there weren’t too many people cramming studying into one short lunch period. Some tables were completely empty, while others were completely packed. Today, some of the senior football players had decided to bring the whole table a shit ton of McDonald’s.

 

“Pretty much,” Lance sighed, taking a long, sad overdrawn sip of his diet coke.

 

“And Keith is mad at you,” he reconfirmed. “because you didn’t want to get both of you suspended?”

 

“Yup.”

 

Bandor practically inhales the rest of his Big Mac. “Wack. Absolute madness. You bail him out and he doesn’t even say thank you?”

 

“That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time!” Lance exclaims, throwing his arms up. Some people, who were quietly studying, glares at him, but he didn’t give a fuck. “It’s like he’s rather get expelled or some shit.”

 

Keith is an anomaly that Lance has had the displeasure of trying to figure out. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to get in trouble. If he didn’t care, he’d probably would have had punched Dak the moment he had met him. And Shiro is keeping a close eye on him, too. At the same time, however, it’s like he’s walking on a thin line that he can’t cross but can tempt. The moment an opportunity rises to his favor, one that saves his sorry ass, he wants to decline? Even if he was going to accept before Lance interrupted him, he wasn’t even grateful for the mercy that Trigel had practically blessed him with.

 

Speaking of Keith, Lance had seen him in first period, but he hadn’t seen him in second. Or third. In fact, he wasn’t sitting with Hunk and Pidge at all during lunch.

 

“If it were up to me,” Nyma chimed in, slurping on her Oreo McFlurry. “I would’ve chosen suspension. A whole week of no school, or forced to pick up cigarette butts and baby diapers on the side of the road?”

 

“Good point,” Bandor mumbles thoughtfully through his straw.

 

Lance only grumbled sourly in response, scribbling down nonsense on a worksheet. That morning, he was under the impression that he was absolutely about to get suspended. Of course, this led to him doing absolutely none of his extensive math homework his teacher had so generously given him over the weekend. In fact, he did absolutely none of his homework, and had to deal with the distasteful looks on each of his teachers faces when he didn’t turn in anything. He didn’t even bring his football gear.

 

Nyma playfully bumped him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Grumpy-pants. I’m sure Keith just has his own issues he has to deal with.”

 

“He has issues, all right,” Lance remarked under his breath as he looked at his math homework, wondering how the fuck algebra got so confusing.

 

She screwed her face into a frown. “Have a little pity, McClain. Not only is he on the hot seat, his older brother is literally an administrator and his coach, so he’s on his ass twenty-four seven. Plus, it’s not like you were nice to him before.”

 

“I _tolerated_ him,” Lance hissed, finally removing his eyes from his homework. Nyma was still frowning, as if she was contemplating something about Lance. “And he tolerated me. It was a mutual understanding of tolerance.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Bandor snorted. “Beating each other’s asses is the epitome of tolerance.”

 

The younger did finger quotes at the last words, and Lance turned his scowl towards his direction.

 

“I thought you were on my side?” Lance groaned, almost slamming his face on the table.

 

“I’m on _no one’s_ side,” Bandor affirmed. He set down his burger and looked at Lance with a maturity he hadn’t seen in the teen before. “You’re both my teammates. And whatever happened on Friday wasn’t because of a silly football game. It’s what’s been going on for weeks, and something that both of you are not willing to tell us.”

 

He gulped.

 

Lance didn’t tell anyone, except for Pidge, what caused Keith to go Fight Night on him. In all honesty, he was too embarrassed and ashamed of what he said. How could he not be? If Nyma had found out if he was anything like Dax, she would have probably disowned him as a friend for good. It was always testing her limits that he hung around the asshole all the time. He couldn’t even imagine Bandor, the happy-go-lucky teen who was friends with literally everyone, would react.

 

Nyma was the closest thing he had to a friend. Even if she did steal his shit and desert him on their first date. She was the only one he could text at one in the morning, about anything and everything, without feeling like he was a bother to her. She told him things she didn’t tell anyone else in her life, not even her own boyfriend. Honestly, she deserved the world. And Lance would’ve been head over heels for her if he hadn’t…

 

Yeah. He was never going to tell Nyma. Or, at the very least, he was going to tell her later.

 

“I’m not withholding any information,” Lance swears, but he could feel the lump in the back of his throat. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

Allura Altea was, for lack of a better term, an actual angel.

 

If popularity was a hierarchy, she’d be on the top of the food-chain. If popularity was a source of living Allura would be comfortable for the rest of her life. Lance couldn’t name one person in town who didn’t know who Allura was, she was just that prominent in everyone’s lives. He couldn’t name a person who didn’t like her, or at the very least, respected her. Allura was a figure, the it girl, the one everyone either wanted to be or wanted to be friends with.

 

The reason everyone knew who Allura was is because she did literally everything. Allura was the captain varsity cheerleader, and showed up for every single event and game. If there was a cheer fundraiser, she was the first one to sell out. She is student body president for her class, always the one to coordinate the greatest homecomings and dances in a lifetime. Allura single-handedly carried her academic decathlon team to victory the previous year, won a $10,000 scholarship for her essay one the treatment of Native American tribes in the area, helped bring her competition cheer team a state trophy, and was recognized as student of the year three times counting. There was no one who came even close to her. Her track record was impeccable.

 

If extracurricular activities didn’t seem enough to impress, Allura was also number one in her class. She was the only one to take all the advanced placement classes the school could offer, and no one could catch up to her at this point.

 

It’s not really surprising that Lance had the biggest crush on Allura, at one point in time. How could anyone not? She was insanely gorgeous, with clear skin and long, silky dark black hair. She, as her name suggests, was incredibly alluring. She was one of the few brown people he saw on campus. She was intellectual and athletic, but kind and chill and the same time. She was the epitome of perfection. Alas, his efforts at wooing her were thwarted when rumors spread that she was dating resident the insanely and equally perfect resident rich boy, Lotor Sucks.

 

And if it seemed like Lance was waxing poetic about a girl he barely even talks to, his admiration is minuscule in comparison to other guys at school. Everyone loved her.

 

Which is why Lance is so confused when he walks into the art room and there’s only three other people there.

 

The art room, or room 305, was a small room. It was one of the only classrooms that was its own structure, and the oldest, apparently. He couldn’t even find it for a solid fifteen minutes, because he was convinced it was attached to the 300 building. The door was old, paint starting to chip off the corners. Inside was just more of a mess. There was a litter of canvases that were dumped in the corner, and fresh artworks that were displayed up to dry. Some were gorgeous, beautiful pieces of art, and some looked like they were drawn by a two year old. Any surface that the desks and tables had were covered with brushes, palettes, and paint tubes. On the windowsill of the classroom were an array of miniature succulents and cactuses. It was charming, to put it kindly.

 

He quickly recognize the mess of chestnut brown hair and glasses. Pidge was on her stomach on the floor, playing with what looked like an OG Gameboy. She was yammering at it in annoyance when a game over appeared on her screen. Hunk was next to her on a chair, trying to teach her how to play, and he looked like he was on the verge of annoyance and laughter.

 

Lance felt like he shouldn’t be surprised that they were there. If Keith were to suffer through something, might as well drag his friends into it, too.

 

What he didn’t expect was for his history teacher to be there, inspecting the succulents on the windowsill with an expert eye, mumbling something about their growth. Coran was wearing his usual button up with a bow tie and slacks, and he looked almost comical standing next to a rather realistic artist rendition of an elf.

 

However, he didn’t see Allura anywhere, which was kind of odd. Not only did she seem like the type of person to be late, but it was her own fucking club. Lance was already running fifteen minutes late in the first place. He scanned the room, and noticed that Keith wasn’t there either. Typical.

 

“...Am I in the right place?” He asked, for good measure. Coran perked his head up, mustache bouncing at the action.

 

“Are you here for Allura’s club?” Coran chirped, too happy for any normal human being at three in the afternoon.

 

He had half a mind to say no. “Yes?”

 

“Then you’re in the right place, lad,” Coran said, ushering Lance in.

 

Pidge, who had just died in her video game again, perked her head up at Lance’s voice. She looked around the room, ironically, like a pigeon, and stopped when she spotted him. He felt his pulse rapidly speed up. Was she going to murder him on the spot? Instead, she was beaming and waving frantically at him, urging him to come over to her. Even Hunk had a little smile on his face.

 

Lance was a bit afraid to even go close to her. In the last week or so, he had been quick to avoid her, even going as far as carpooling with Luxia (which was a death-defying experience) in order to not run into Pidge at the bus stop. The cute little smile and the welcoming look on her round face just had to be a trap, right? The moment he was in five feet of her, she was going to pounce.

 

But she didn’t do that at all. Instead, she said, “Welcome the club, buddy.”

 

Lance furrowed his eyebrows, still cautious. “Why are you two here?”

 

“We knew Keith would feel lonely by himself,” Hunk shrugged nonchalantly, holding the Gameboy in one hand. He looked like he was trying to fix it. “considering that he would probably know no one besides you, and that in of itself sucks. But I expected way more people to be here than just us.”

 

Makes sense. Lance managed to ignore the little jab Hunk said. Keith would act all emo and lonely if Lance was the only one he knew at the club, because he even acts like that during football practice.

 

“By the way, where is Allura and Keith?” Lance asked.

 

“Allura was here earlier,” Pidge said, lying on her stomach with her head resting in her hands. She bit back a laugh. “But Keith wasn’t, so now she’s hunting him down. Rambo style.”

 

She did little jazz hands with her fingers. Lance openly snorted, and took a seat on the floor next to the both of them. He stole a chicken finger off of Pidge’s snack plate, accompanied by a glare from the said person.

 

He felt himself both mentally and physically relax, sitting on the dusty floor of the art room, eating stolen chicken fingers. The last week of his life has been the craziest. Not only was he actively avoiding Pidge, Hunk, and Keith, but he was actively avoiding his mom as well. She still hasn’t talked to him, even when they both went to church together on Sunday. Lance had thought, at the most, it would be three days, but even after eleven whole days, she still hasn’t bat an eye.

 

He’s drowned out those thoughts through drowning himself out with anything and everything. Homework took up a good portion of his time, thankfully and not thankfully. He had an excuse to lock himself in his room. Even though he worked less than he did during the summertime, it still took up a good portion of his time. It never hurt to earn a little bit more cash.

 

The one thing that had really kept him going was football practice. Not only was it a good distraction from, well, pretty much everything that was happening in his life, but it was also a way to get rid of the raw tension that was built up inside him. It was therapeutic for him, exerting excess energy he really didn’t need, while at the same time, getting a good workout. It might not be the most effective, but there was something about running down the field in the sunset.

 

The only downfall was that Keith was there, and he was obviously using practice as therapy. He was less precise with his throws and more aggressive, which Lance had the unfortunate privilege of witnessing first hand when a ball was flying at his face a mile a minute.

 

They hadn’t said anything to each other, and even more rarely looked each other in the face. It was weird. And if Lance were to be honest, he didn’t want it to be weird anymore.

 

Suddenly, the metal door was slammed open, and Lance jumped out of his pants. Coran shrieked loudly, cowering behind a tiny desk, and both Pidge and Hunk just blinked tiredly.

 

At the frame of the door was no other than the angel herself. Under the grip her ridiculously toned arm was none other than the devil himself.

 

It was a comical sight, at least for Lance. Allura has that welcoming and kind smile on her face that she always wore. However, her bone crushing grip on Keith said otherwise. The black-haired boy looked out of breath and wild, like he was running away from a lion. He was struggling to shrug Allura off of him, but she wasn’t budging. At all.

 

This was going to be interesting.

 

“Sorry that I’m late everyone,” Allura gleamed, tossing her long, silver hair across her shoulders. She had an uncharacteristic wicked glint in her eyes. “I had to run a few errands.”

 

She gave Keith’s arm a rough squeeze before releasing him, and he almost fell on his ass.

 

Heaving, he puts his hands to his knees for support. There was a sheen on sweat all over his body that Lance only saw if they were practicing on a really, _really_ hot day. And the last time Lance checked, it was only seventy degrees that day, and they weren’t going to practice. Either Keith was in a sauna for a cool fifteen minutes or he had the workout of a lifetime.

 

“She chased me,” Keith wheezed, body moving up and down as he breathed. His face was pinkish red, bringing out an image of him that Lance had never seen before. “Down the fucking _football field_.”

 

“Language,” Coran reprimanded idly. Keith shot him a look, and Coran just took a sip of his coffee.

 

“And good thing I did. You’re here, aren’t you?” Allura shrugged nonchalantly. The girl wasn’t even sweating, not even out of breath. There was no hair out of place.

 

Keith looked at her, scowling. Dusting off his shirt, his gaze meets Lance’s and his eyes widen. He huffed, annoyed, and looked away. Keith shuffled towards where Pidge and Hunk were sitting, at the corner of the room munching on their snacks and Capri-suns, making sure to take a long route around Lance instead of just walking past him. His head was glaring at the ground, black hair covering his face.

 

Lance frowned. What was with the sudden shyness? Keith wasn’t as timid when he barreled through Lance during practices.

 

“Alright, everyone,” Allura beamed, clasping her hands together. Her smile was bright and welcoming, but the glint in her eye spelled trouble. “Welcome to Volunteer Club. Everyone gather around in the middle and we’ll get started.”

 

They all start gathering around in the middle of the room, trying not to knock any of the canvases over in the process. It was a bit hard for Lance, being tall and lanky. In the dead center of the room, there were stools that sat in a circle, surrounded by their corresponding easels on the outer edge.

 

Lance sat on the raggedy and busted stool on the farther edge next to the window. Before sitting down completely, he admired the painting that was right behind him. It was a semi-realistic painting of a bouquet of purple lavenders in a clear vase next to a windowsill. The oils on the canvas were still wet, making it look more ethereal in the sunlight. He always liked to watch his mom water the flowerbeds in the morning before getting ready for school. He told his friends once, when he was still six and hopeful, but they made fun of him.

 

He stopped watching his mom water the flower beds and instead practiced his soccer in the backyard. Lance’s heart clenched, and he looked away.

 

Allura, to his pleasant surprise, walked over to where Lance was sitting. She took a seat next to him, but probably because it was the only wooden stool that had a cushion on it.

 

Her sharp eyes scanned the room with detail, and pursed her lips into a forced smile. Lance could have sworn he saw a twitch in her eye for a split seconds. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who was wondering what happened to the show-up.

 

“Alright then,” she mumbled , hands placed on her lap. “May as well start with the formalities and get it over with-“

 

Coral shot up with a burst of energy, raising his hand like a kindergartener in the classroom. His moustache bounced with him. “Oh! I’ll start!”

 

Allura motioned tiredly at him, indicating her approval. He cleared his throat. Lance was preparing himself for the ear-piercing sound of Coran’s voice.

 

“My name is Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, but my students just call me Coran,” he announced, placing his hands on his hips. “I am the only AP World History teacher on this campus as well as the regular World History teacher. I enjoy cooking, mechanics, biology, literature, etcetera. I was an Army Linguist in my twenties and knit Karate, Taekwondo-“

 

“Coran, I think it would be more _beneficial_ for our members to learn more about you gradually, don’t you think?” Allura smiled.

 

He paused, and laughed almost abashed. “You’re absolutely right! If I told you lot about my life story, we would be here all day. Well done on taking authority, princess!”

 

Allura blushed a bright red, eyes wide, and embarrassment flooded onto her face. “ _Coran_ -“

 

“Princess?” Lance raised an eyebrow.

 

Her blush turned even deeper as she tucked a hair behind her ear sheepishly. “Ah, Coran’s a long-time family friend of ours, and is like an uncle to me. It’s a pet name he’s bestowed me for as long as I can remember.”

 

“No wonder she talks like a fucking English monarch,” Keith muttered under his breath offhandedly, which earned an elbow jab from Pidge.

 

Keith hissed in pain and shot a look to the younger girl, who only had a look of mock innocence on her face. He glared at her and crossed his arms over his chest. Pidge gleamed at him and stood, adjusting her wire-framed glasses.

 

“My name is Katie Holt,” she announced, hands on her hips. “My nickname is Pidge, and I am very aware that it’s weird and doesn’t make sense. My hobbies include reading, computer engineering, pulling all-nighters for two consecutive days, stealing Hunk’s peanut butter cookies, and annoying Keith. Since this club seems to annoy him a lot, you can expect me to become a regular member.”

 

Pidge plopped herself back on the stool, and rocked back and forth like a child. She gave a wolfish grin to Keith, who only glared at her. She motioned him to get up, and he sighed loudly.

 

He got up, hands his his pockets. His jaw was clenched and his voice was robotic. “I’m Keith and here against my will.”

 

Keith sat back down, blowing hair out of his face. Pidge gave him a pat on the back for his effort, but he only pouted like a puppy getting angry from being pet.

 

Allura blinked. “I- okay. Who’s next?”

 

She looked around, patiently. Her attention turned to Lance and looked at him, questioningly, but he only shook his head. In situations like this, when one was introducing themselves, Lance preferred to go last. It was better to assess the environment and the people before he revealed more information about himself than needed. At least that’s what he learned from a spy movie he watched when he was eight.

 

Hunk rose his hand and stood up. “I’m Hunk Garrett. I’m an aspiring engineer who wants to work in the military after high school. I like fixing cars, hating the Raiders, making sure Lance and Keith don’t kill each other, cooking, making sure Lance and Keith don’t kill each other, Ted-Talks, and oh right, making sure that Lance and Keith don’t start battling it out to the death.”

 

“Trust me Hunk,” Lance grinned. He nodded his head towards Keith, who was  fiddling with his thumbs. “You don’t need to worry about me, but maybe Billy Ray Cyrus over there.”

 

“Fuck off,” Keith hissed at him, not even looking at him.

 

“ _Language_ ,” Coran chastised quietly, to the attention of no one.

 

Lance stole a glance at Allura who, through a kind smile, was getting noticeably nervous. But honestly, how couldn’t she? Fifteen minutes into her first meeting and there was a small show-up and already two idiots who didn’t get along. Pidge and Hunk had made it clear that they were only there because Keith was there, so if he left, sixty percent of her club left. Not to mention a doting and overbearing uncle.

 

He decided to lighten the load and stood up before she would ask him to. “Hi. I’m Lance McClain. I’m the starting wide-receiver on the football team and an honors student. I like football, video games, garlic knots, and helping other people. I’m really excited to be part of this club.”

 

He sat back down, and Allura exasperated a relieved sigh. “ _Thank you_.”

 

Allura stood up and dusted off her skirt, before overlapping her hands in front of her. “I’m Allura de Altea. I’m the varsity cheer captain and student body president, as well as this club’s coordinator. I’m excited for the year to come.”

 

“If it even lasts that long,” Keith mumbled under his breath, and Pidge whacked him upside the head again.

 

Lance’s eye twitched. As much as Keith’s suffering humored Lance, it was really starting to annoy him now. Allura was clearly excited for whatever the hell they were doing, and Keith’s dismissal of it is obviously starting to phase her.

 

“Arusia is a heavily funded school that’s core value is the celebration of our community. What better way than for the students to give back?” Allura chirped, clapping her hands together. “Olkari Forest is one of the more popular tourist attractions in town. It used to cover a huge stretch of the town, but when the settlement arose, it cut down its former glory. The state deemed it a state park in 1942 to try a preserve it, but in recent years, more and more of the trees are disappearing. To make matters worse, the recent wildfires had completely demolished about one-fifths of the entire forest.”

 

He remembers that occurrence briefly. It was in the middle of July, when football practices started to intensify. His mom was on the couch, eyebrows stitched together as she watched firefighters in helicopters desperately trying to put it out on the news. Lance didn’t really think any of it until he was in the middle of practice and noticed that the sky had been more grey than usual. The air quality was so bad that they had to cancel practice.

 

“I’ve signed us up to help restore the forest and to spend next Saturday and Sunday planting trees,” she announced.

 

“Planting trees?” Keith scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sounds boring.”

 

Like the straw that broke the camel’s back, there was a shift in Allura’s demeanor. Her smiling, enlivened expression quickly dropped, and was replaced with a scowl. Her temper was one Lance had never seen on anyone besides- well, _Keith_.

 

“Yes, Kogane,” she hissed. “We _are_ planting trees, because we’re a _volunteer_ group. I’m sorry if helping the environment is not your taste, and by all means, you can quit if you want. But, forgive me if I’m wrong, you’re forced to be here because if you don’t, you’ll probably get suspended or even expelled. So I suggest you suck it up and let me _speak_.”

 

Keith narrowed his eyes and slowly sat back in his chair cautiously. His adam’s apple bobbed.

 

Lance only watched in minor shock as he watched this go down. He could even see Pidge and Hunk in the corner witnessing with surprised faces. Never in his lifetime would he ever think that Allura would ever lose her cool and snap at someone. Especially someone she met twenty minutes ago.

 

But, then again, no one in that room really knew Allura, except for Coran. And Coran looked generally unfazed by her outburst.

 

Allura’s eyes popped, and looked around the room as if she just realized there were other people in the room besides Keith and her. “S-Sorry. I- anyways, it’s going to be an overnight trip, the weekend after homecoming. It’s going to be a whole twenty-four hours, so I suggest you should tell your parents ahead of time.”

 

Lance’s eyes quickly darted to Keith’s, who’s eyes widened with realization as well. It was going to be tricky. Not only was it homecoming weekend and he would be missing out on some probably insane parties, it was also hard to fit on his already busy schedule. No doubt Ryner would be a little ticked off when he had to explain to her that he would take the whole weekend off, and his mom would probably be skeptical, but…

 

They needed fifty hours. The trip was going to be twenty-four hours at _least_. That’s half of his entire punishment.

 

Half. If he does two more trips like this, he’s a free man.

 

Despite his giddiness, it’s Pidge who says something first. “Wait, so we’re going to be, like, camping?”

 

“Yes,” Allura beamed. “It’s going to be so fun.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Pidge deadpanned, sucking in her cheek. “Walking around all day covered in dirt, peeing in gross porta-potties, getting mosquito bites, and sleeping on rocks all while not taking a shower sounds _incredible_.”

 

“Oh hush up,” Allura reprimanded without malice. “Camping is a great bonding experience, and helps enhance social skills in the great outdoors. And it helps smoothen out… personal vendettas, as recommended by the principal.”

 

Jesus. Lance almost sighed out loud. It seems like Trigel is always on his back 24/7. She randomly shows up to his classes and pretend to just be visiting. She even supervised practices last week. Apparently she was there to ‘make sure that there wasn’t a toxic environment in the football program’, but she didn’t even talk to Shiro once, but pulled out Lance to make sure his grades weren’t slipping.

 

He had straight As.

 

“Furthermore, you’ll enhance your survival skills exponentially,” Coran added. “Camping was a great way for young boy scouts like myself to earn their badges as efficiently and quickly as possible through a number of activities. From Saturday to Monday we will-“

 

“Wait, we’re skipping school on Monday?” Hunk interrupted. “If we are, then dude, I’m in. I have a huge test that day that I refuse to take.”

 

“If Hunk is going,” Pidge sighed. “Then I guess I will too.”

 

“Great,” Allura beamed, and turned to Keith and Lance. “How about it?”

 

Lance bit the inside of his lip in contemplation. On one hand, it’s a complete and utter waste of his time. Three whole days that he could be working, doing his homework, practicing, and hanging with his team. But on the other, it’s a huge step forward to freedom. He couldn’t see Keith. Lance didn’t want to look at his face. Even so, he felt as if he could read his mind, like he knew exactly what he was thinking. And Lance was thinking the same too.

 

This was pretty lame.

 

“Alright then,” Lance decided. “Count us in.”

 

* * *

 

  


“Your punishment is to go camping?” Izaac exclaimed, throwing a price of popcorn in the air and catching it on his tongue. “That’s pretty fucking stupid.”

 

“Language,” Lance chastised, grabbing a fistful of popcorn and stuffing it in his mouth.

 

Both Izaac and Lance were sitting on the living room couch, stuffing their faces with popcorn, an old stuffy bag of Doritos, and some pasta he took home from work. October had just begun, and to get in the spooky spirit, they decided to watch a scary movie. Lance had decided on the original Halloween movie, since he remembered that it scared Izaac shitless when he was five. Under a huddle of multiple blankets and clumpy old pillows, Lance and Izaac had completely disregarded the movie.

 

“What? It’s true,” Izaac shrugged, mouth full of chips. “You do some pretty stupid shit, and the school just lets you off? This kid in the _locker room_ pants his friend and he got suspended for like, five days.”

 

“Well, if your school suspends a kid for that, they’re pretty dumb too,” Lance said. He grabbed a paper towel and wiped his chip dust off of Izaac’s face, who cowered in response.

 

Lance couldn’t believe how old Izaac was getting. He remembers having to babysit the little brat when he was eleven. When Izaac was snot faced and full of hope, too innocent for the world. Not the profanity ridden sarcastic twelve year old. He worries that he’ll take too much after him.

 

“Lance,” Izaac murmured. “Tío Luis called yesterday.”

 

His hand froze, popcorn stopping from entering his mouth.

 

Luis. Of course Luis would call Izaac this late in the year.

 

He didn’t hate his brother. Far from it. It’s just that he’s never been that close to him. Luis and Lance were way too far age, almost far enough to be his uncle or something. He was already in middle school by the time that Lance was born, and right from the get-go, he didn’t think much of Lance. With such an expansive family, why would you care about another one? Lance never held it against him. They still bantered. Despite everything, family was still family, right?

 

“What did he say?” Lance tried to sound nonchalant, but caution still edged his tone.

 

“You know, the usual. He wanted to talk to me about school, your mom,” He said. “Moving to L.A.”

 

Huh.

 

“And?” Lance inquired.

 

“And what?” he perked an eyebrow, shuffling in the blankets. He almost seemed uncomfortable talking about it. “You know I’ve been saying no this whole time. I don’t know if I really want to stay with Luis, because I don’t know him like that. Besides, Los Angeles is stuffy and his kids are brats.”

 

That was true. Luis’ kids were literally satan’s unofficial spawns, all under the age of eight. Lance briefly remembers trying the babysit them the summer of his sophomore year, and he couldn’t the get the sound whining and crying out of his head for weeks. He shudders at the thought of Cabbage Patch Kids to this very day, and he doesn’t even remember Izaac being that annoying. Or any of his siblings.

 

“But Los Angeles is pretty cool, you know?” Lance said thoughtfully. “This town’s too small to do anything worthwhile, unless you count the county fair that happens like every year for like a day. You could go to the mall everyday without having to drive twenty minutes. There’s always something to do in a big city, and the kids will probably be less snotty.”

 

Izaac turned to him, scowling. “It’s like you _want_ me to leave.”

 

“I don’t,” Lance reassured. “I’m just letting you know that you have options.”

 

As much as Lance cared about his nephew, he didn’t want to suffocate him. There was only so much of the same place you could take before you got sick of it. And if he were being completely honest, twelve-year old Lance would have jumped at the opportunity to live in Sacramento, even at the expense of him being separated from his mom.

 

“I already chose an option,” Izaac huffed. “to be with you and _mamá_. Not in some musty ass city where there’s crackheads on every corner, and one where my family isn’t.”

 

Lance’s heart panged hard. He didn’t realize how much Izaac cared about him before.

 

Maybe he _was_ becoming too much like Lance.

 

Lance grinned wolfishly. “I’m just saying, dude. Maybe you’ll finally get a hot L.A chick and finally stop playing Fortnite ‘til three in the morning.”

 

Instead of the snarky, whiny retort he had been expecting, he was met with a large couch pillow to the face. Izaac proceeds to try and kill him with a pillow and spout some very colorful insults at Lance, and he wonders if his life was truly as bad as he made it out to be.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance was, yet again, right as always. Life truly was a shithole.

 

Shiro was drilling them _hard_ at practice. And not just running a few laps and pushups. The moment he stepped on the field, he was met with two miles. As a _warm-up_. Then, they had to do fifty burpees, plank suicides, seventy sit-ups, forty pull-ups, and only after that were they allowed to get water. Not to mention that is was at the end of the day too, and he probably shouldn’t eaten that greasy ass leftover pizza from dinner for lunch.

 

Of course, like any normal person who likes breathing, Lance was dying by the end of it, and so was everyone else. Except for probably Keith, who just looked a little out of breath with barely any sweat.

 

Fucking Keith.

 

By the time the last few people had finished their last pull-up, everyone was either leaning against something or lying on the ground in exhaustion. Bandor was spread on the ground, his shirt covering his face as his chest. Dak was sitting on the grass, dumping cold water on his face before drinking it. Keith was just leaning against fence, shirt on his shoulder, abs in all their glory. Lance wondered if Shiro made Keith do this shit at home.

 

Lance brought his gatorade bottle to his mouth, only to find that there was barely a drop left. He groaned.

 

Maybe he was a little melodramatic, but he wants to die.

 

The sky was already turning bright orange and red, indicating that it was nearing the end of practice. Fall meant that the sun sets earlier than it usually would in the summer, and that also meant that the football season was halfway through.

 

Ever since the incident, they haven’t lost a football game. Shiro made sure of it. By the time he got to practice, Shiro always had a new play that he wanted to try out, or he revised a new one. There was always a new exercise, a new training regime, something new, always. He switched around positions to see what would work, replaced the starters and alternates. But if there was one thing he always kept the same, it was Keith as starting QB and Lance as starting wide receiver.

 

Fucking sucked, honestly.

 

“Hope that wasn’t too hard,” Shiro said, hovering over his players. “Because trust me, this wasn’t the worst of it.”

 

“The _worst_?” Lance puffed out. “What do you mean, the worst?”

 

“Yeah,” Bandor groaned, throwing his sweaty shirt off his face to reveal a red freckled face. “What did we do to deserve this torture?”

 

“You wanna know why?” Shiro snapped, making everyone jump a little. Even Lance woke up. “Maybe it was because of the little _incident_ that happened a few weeks ago in the locker room.”

 

Lance gulped, biting the inside of his lip. Suddenly, he felt a little self-conscious, and his eyes darted to his teammates, who were eyeing him and Keith and the same time. Well, of course that was the reason. He’s had a gut-feeling about it for the last few weeks. But by the way Shiro was treating him, and even Keith, he was starting to think that Shiro was starting to forgive them. Apparently, however, Lance wasn’t the only one who thought his punishment was bullshit.

 

“Thanks a lot, Lance,” Bandor murmured, and Lance shot him a look.

 

“It wasn’t just because of them. You were _all_ there,” Shiro glowered, and Bandor shrunk back. “Instead of trying to stop it or even talk it over, you all just stood there. Some of you even recorded it, and I already talked to those people individually. Not only was it stupid, but it was embarrassing for me and the program. I’ve had coaches from other _schools_ message me about it. You’re supposed to be a team. The whole point of this sport is to figure out how to work together to strengthen each other and the team as a whole, not to talk crap about each other, because trust me, I know _everything_.”

 

Keith’s eyebrows furrowed. “Shiro-“

 

Shiro’s hand rose, indicating Keith to stop talking. “The fact that I feel like I’m dealing with a bunch of fifth graders instead of a varsity team is dumb. You’re young adults. If you have a problem, you deal with it. Don’t bring your personal problems inside of football. Because at the end of the day, it’s just a _sport_. For now, we’re hardcore conditioning until you guys can get your act together. Any questions?”

 

No one spoke a word. Bandor was playing with his thumbs, and Dak’s jaw was clenched. Even though no words were spoken, everyone knew what everyone else was thinking.

 

“Good,” Shiro finished, bringing out his clipboard to write something down. “We’re done conditioning for the day. For the rest of practice, you guys can just practice passes or get some extra bodybuilding in at the weight room.”

 

Everyone begrudgingly complied, slowly getting up without saying a word. Lance slung his grass-stained duffel bag over his shoulder while walking to the football field. He could hear whispers, albeit loud ones, coming from his classmates. He tried to drown out their conversations that were about _him_. Lance tried to convince himself that if he didn’t just get chewed out, he would have called them out.

 

In truth, he wouldn’t have done it regardless.

 

Bandor jogged behind him, slapping a hand on Lance’s shoulder, making him jump slightly. “Dude, that was harsh. But I was honestly expecting a lot worse.”

 

Lance shrugged. He put a black hoodie over his head whilst talking. “I don’t know, dude. I mean, it’s Shiro we’re talking about. He’s not usually the yelling type of guy.”

 

“But that’s, like, his brother, you know?” Bandor continued, taking a bite of his banana that he pulled out of his backpack. “If someone was talking shit about my little brother, I would have probably beat their asses. Hypothetically, though. I don’t have a brother. You got off lucky.”

 

He frowned. “I don’t talk shit about Keith.”

 

Bandor gave him a deadpan stare.

 

“ _Seriously_ ,” Lance argued. “I don’t talk shit, I critique. There’s a difference when I make fun of his haircut and when Dak makes fun of-“

 

“Whatever, dude,” Bandor interrupts him, waving him off. “At this point, I’m sick of hearing about the fight. It’s old news.”

 

Lance hummed in agreement. Out of all the people on the team, Bandor is the one who seemed to not hate Keith the most. Well, Lance doesn’t think Bandor really hates anyone, or is capable of it. But despite Keith’s coldness to basically everyone, Bandor seems to understand him, which kind of frustrates Lance, because everything that Keith is is a mystery. Bandor just seems to understand people at levels.

 

They arrived at the field, and to no one surprise, only a few people were actually passing footballs. Whenever Shiro gives them the option of weight room, everyone usually goes to the weight room. No one actually lifts weights, except for probably Dak. People just usually fuck around or drink all the water in the ice chests when it’s a hot day.

 

Lance spots Keith near the sidelines. He was talking with Shiro in the bleachers, and it looks like they were talking about something pretty important, because no smiles were exchanged.

 

“Wanna just throw the balls across the field as hard as we can and try to catch it?” Lance suggested, putting his bag down.

 

“Sounds impossible, but cool,” Bandor responded.

 

They started at the ends of the field, and Lance threw the ball. It barely flew fifty yards, but Bandor had ran to catch it. It was kind of lackluster, but it was just a warm-up throw. Lance planned on showing Shiro how good of a quarterback he could be.

 

They tossed back and forth, and each time, Lance threw farther and farther. It went on for a while, and for the first few minutes, Lance was just mindlessly throwing and catching. Catching was easy. It was his job most of the time, since Shiro particularly liked throwing in the wide receiver most of the time. But throwing was a lot trickier for Lance. He had to pause, aim, and throw with just enough strength and accuracy that it would land in the receivers hands. It was harder for him, sure, but it was a lot more fun and challenging. And he loves a challenge.

 

After ten more minutes, Lance glanced at the sidelines where Keith and Shiro were. Shiro still hasn’t noticed that Lance had thrown a good ninety yards flawlessly at that point. He clenched his jaw. Opportunities, opportunities.

 

So when he saw Shiro’s head turning, he grinned.

 

“Get ready!” Lance yelled at Bandor, who was all the way across the field.

 

He rolled up his sleeves up to his forearms, and took a few steps back to propels himself forward. Then, with all his strength God and the hot cheetos in his system could give him, he threw the football as hard as humanly possible.

 

And boy, did that ball fly. He smirked smugly, crossing his arms across his chest when he saw Bandor having to sprint across the field to try and catch it. He glanced at Shiro, who was watching the ball in the air, a small expression of _something_ in his face. Even Keith looked a bit awed.

 

He felt a bit giddy at the thought that the team’s certified quarterback was impressed at something he did, even if it was Keith. Months of hard work really did pay off on his throwing arm.

 

Unfortunately, the ball flew too high, because it flew right across the fence.

 

“Lance!” He heard Shiro’s annoyed call, and Lance winced. “Go get the ball.”

 

“I-ah, shit, okay!” Lance answered back, embarrassedly, picking up a sprint across the football field to get to it. He flipped Bandor off when he heard him snicker.

 

When he arrived in front of the fence, he scowled. The gate was locked, and the custodians and the administrators are all the way back on the main campus, meaning that he’s have to run all the way over to the office to get someone. Or he could just fence-hop, but the thought made him wince. He’s fence-hopped before, to sneak into parties or usually to pick up his stuff that he leaves in school. But his muscles were sore and his legs felt a little bit shaky after running so much, and the thought of having to climb was tiring enough.

 

However, he could feel Shiro’s eyes on the back of his head, watching him. More importantly, he could feel Keith’s. And there was no way that he would let him think that he was too weak to climb a stupid fence.

 

It’s like everything Keith did was a challenge.

 

So, he took a breath, stepped on one of the holes, and climbed. The fences at the back of the school are usually taller, mostly to make sure no meddlesome kids would sneak into school to spray paint it or some shit like that. He was lucky that the fence in particular didn’t have any visible barbwire like the others, because he did not want to risk that.

 

He sat on the top of the fence and jumped to the other side, landing perfectly on his feet. He grabbed the football, one of the old practice ones, and threw it back over to the other side.

 

He puffed, and looked at the top of the fence. Well, now he had to get back to the other side.

 

As he climbed, Lance tried to ignore the aching feeling in his calves. Each time he hoisted himself up, his arms turned to jelly. Practice was really starting to weigh down on him, but he wasn’t trying to let anyone notice. Especially Shiro.

 

He was at the top. He sighed a breath of relief, and took a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Shiro wave at Keith and Bandor, probably already heading home. Bandor has his bag slung around his shoulder.

 

 _Alright_ , he thought to himself. _Here goes nothing_. He hoisted himself over the fence and-

 

“Fuck!” he hissed to himself when the fence scratched his stomach.

 

He looked down and lifted his sweatshirt, to reveal a gash on his lower stomach. His shirt had ridden up on the way over. Apparently, the one fence that he thought was the least dangerous was not as safe as he thought it was.

 

As he walked over to the field, he saw Bandor wave bye to him.

 

“I’m going to head out now!” Bandor called out, putting a shirt back. “Romelle’s taking me out for some Olive Garden.”

 

He gave him a thumbs up, too afraid of what his voice sounded like while he was shaking. Lance’s arm was around his stomach, trying to conceal the fact that he was in a shitload of pain. Bandor gave him a thumbs up back and headed towards the main campus of school.

 

Once Bandor was out of sight, Lance started doing the calculations in his head. If Shiro were there, he would have mostly likely sought out help to him. He was the only coach’s he’s ever had to know how to wrap up a player. But since Shiro wasn’t there, he probably had to do it himself at home. Problem was, he literally lived a few miles away. He could call an Uber, but the thought of getting blood all over the backseat of some poor person’s car was rude. His only option at this point was to bike home as quickly as possible.

 

Shit. He was screwed.

 

“Lance!” a familiar, annoyed voice said behind him. He whipped around to be met face to face with Keith, and tried not to look so startled about it.

 

“Shiro said you have to help me put away all the equipment in the locker room since the storage room is locked,” Keith explained, pointing to the leftover footballs and jump-ropes. “I already rounded up most of it, but I can’t carry it all.”

 

“You said ‘rounded up’ like a cowboy,” Lance grinned, and even that alone was painful. “probably ‘cause you’re like, from Texas.”

 

Keith glared. Lance didn’t falter.

 

As they picked up the stuff and started heading towards the locker room, Lance’s head was moving a mile a minute. Okay, this was good. The locker room is where Shiro kept the first aid kit. If he could find it, slip away for a minute, get himself patched up, he could easily bike home.

 

The thing was, how was he going to get into Shiro’s office?

 

Keith took out a key and unlocked the locker room, which opened with a big metal clang. He turned to face Lance. “I’ll put the footballs in the back storage, and you could put the jump ropes in Shiro’s office.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Lance responded with a thumbs up, giddiness clouded by the ache.

 

Keith gave Lance a peculiar before scooping up the bag of footballs he left on the ground, and headed towards the back of the locker room. Lance waited patiently for Keith to be out of sight before he dashed towards Shiro’s office on the upper level.

 

Shiro’s office overlooked the rest of the lockerroom, and usually, no one was allowed in there unless permission was explicitly granted. However, Lance sometimes stored his lunch or microwaved his food in there without Shiro’s consent, and if Shiro did find him in there, he only sighed loudly. He had a thing about people disorganizing his office.

 

He opened the door, and he almost cried out in frustration. Since Shiro loves to organize all his stuff, he had filing cabinets.

 

A lot of them.

 

Gritting his teeth, he dropped the jump ropes and began scouranging through his desk. The first drawer was just filled with a bunch of gel pens. He would have almost laughed if he didn’t feel like _dying_.

 

The things that Lance found were exhausting him. There was one drawer that was dedicated to 80s fitness book and DVDs, all hideous and outdated as shit. He found a drawer filled with cough drops and Jolly Ranchers, and he of course took one. The less pleasant thing he found was one full of condoms and a guideline book on how to teach your impressionable students about sex ed.

 

He shivered as he closed that one. Poor Shiro.

 

It had been five minutes already, and he still hasn’t found anything remotely related to health. Shiro had way too much stuff in such a small space, and Lance was beginning to wonder if he was truly organized or just a hoarder. Because why the hell would Shiro keep a box full of Canadian coins in his office?

 

And fuck, if Lance was a few minutes ago, he was _dying_ now. That shit hurt like a motherfucker. If he didn’t find the first aid then, he would have to call his mom to pick him up.

 

“Lance, do you know where the key to- jesus fucking _christ_.”

 

Lance whipped his head around to face Keith, who had just walked in. He was carrying a bunch of colorful cones in his arms, which he immediately set down.

 

“Why the fuck is there blood all over your hands?” Keith demanded. “And why the fuck is it all over your shorts?”

 

He gulped.

 

“I-uh,” Lance sputtered, not knowing what to say. What could he say, after all? He lifted up his sweatshirt, and pointed to his stomach. “Fence. I was looking for the first aid kit, but I can’t find it.”

 

“Oh my god,” Keith groaned, hand dragging across his face. He immediately came over to where Lance was. “That was literally ten fucking minutes ago. You could’ve gotten blood on the carpet.”

 

Lance scowled. “I’m bleeding out and all you care about is the ugly carpet.”

 

“ _Seriously_ ,” Keith hissed, inspecting the wound. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

 

Keith got up quickly. He stalked over to the highest drawer on the left, and pulled out the first aid kit. Lance almost laughed at his luck. Out of all the drawers in the room, of course it was the one he didn’t check.

 

“I didn’t want to bother anyone?” Lance tried, timid grin on his face.

 

Keith squatted to Lance’s level, scowling. “So what were you going to fucking do, huh? Bike all the way home and hope it magically fixes itself along the way?”

 

Lance stared blankly at him. “Are you trying to intimidate me?”

 

“No, I’m trying to help you, dumbass,” Keith grumbled, opening the first aid kit with one hand. He took out the cleaning anti-bacterial patch. “Let me see.”

 

Lance immediately scooted away from him, glaring. There was no way in _hell_ he was ever going to let Keith touch him. “No fucking way. I can do it myself.”

 

“Lance,” Keith snapped, scooting closer to Lance, who just trudged away even more. He opened the wipe and his hand was getting closer to Lance’s stomach. “Stop being a stubborn ass. Let me help.”

 

“No,” Lance hissed from both pain and annoyance. “I’m fine. Just give me the fucking wipes.”

 

“Do you not want me to touch you because I’m gay, Lance?” Keith deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest as he sat on the floor.

 

Lance looked at him, horrified. “What? Of course not!”

 

Keith’s jaw clenched, and he sighed. He slumped his shoulders and knitted his eyebrows together, frowning. “Lance. I’ve done this a million times, and I don’t want you to get an infection. So _please_ , just let me help you.”

 

Lance swallowed, looking at the sight before him. Keith, the stubborn headass who took no shit and gave no fucks, was trying to help him. He was begging to help him. A month ago, if you would have told Lance that Keith had begged him for anything, he would have just laughed and punched you in the face. But now…

 

“Fine,” he gulped down his pride. “Okay.”

 

He sat his back against the desk. Keith moved gently next to Lance, and Lance has never seen Keith do anything _gentle_ in his life. He took out the wet pads.

 

He pursed his lips and looked up at Lance. “This might hurt a little.”

 

Lance grinned. “Nothing I can’t take.”

 

Keith puffed up his cheeks and rolled his eyes, and only a moment later, Lance felt the painful stinging sensation on his lower abdomen. He hissed loudly, but bit his lip hard. He blinked back the water in his eyes.

 

“Sorry,” Keith mumbled.

 

“I-I’m fine,” Lance wobbly said. “I think it’s better if I have something to distract myself from the pain.”

 

Keith quirked an eyebrow. “Okay. What?”

 

“I don’t know,” Lance smiled smugly, and Keith looked like he already regretted saying anything at all. “You said that you’ve done this a million times. Why don’t you tell me the stories behind all the scars you have?”

 

Keith furrowed his eyebrows, and diverted his eyes. He focused on the wound, not looking at Lance. “It isn’t really a secret that I used to get into a lot of fights when I was younger. There isn’t really much else to say.”

 

“Come _on_ ,” Lance whined. “There has to be a story behind that scar on your back.”

 

Keith’s head shot up. “You noticed it?”

 

“I mean, yeah,” Lance shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s pretty noticeable.”

 

Keith bit the inside of his lip. “There’s not much of a story behind it. One day, I was out in the woods with my dad, and the next thing I knew, I was being chased by a bear. The park rangers had tamed it before it could do any real damage, but it managed to kind of nick at my back.”

 

“Are you fucking serious?” Lance exclaimed, sitting up in interest. “That’s freaking _awesome_.”

 

“Really?” Keith asked, as if being chased by a bear was normal.

 

“Yeah, _really_ ,” Lance said, slightly mocking Keith’s surprise. He pointed at the one on his arm. “How ‘bout that one?”

 

“Some kid in fourth grade didn’t know my name and called me the emo kid, I called them a dumbass, and he pushed me into a bush. Of roses. With thorns,” Keith explained.

 

“Okay, the one on your calf.”

 

Keith wrinkled his nose, as if the memory gave him sour thoughts. “I got into a fight with a kid when I was twelve after he told everyone I was gay and I pushed him in the pool. It was wet and I slipped, and then I needed stitches on my leg, and the other kid needed a new school.”

 

Lance laughed at that one. “The ones on your knuckles?”

 

“Lance, we’ve established this. I’ve been in many, _many_ fights before. I’m surprised they’re not as fucked up as they should be.”

 

“Your face?”

 

“A fucking cat scratched me,” Keith deadpanned. “A fluffy, cute white cat jumped on my face and scratched the fuck out of it. Now I have to live with the memory on my cheek.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Lance sniggered, barely containing his laughter. “How about your burn marks?”

 

Keith’s goofy smile immediately dropped, his expression falling. He averted his eyes quickly down, and was cleaning the area around the wound.

 

“I’d-uh, rather not talk about it,” Keith murmured.

 

“Sorry,” Lance said, genuinely, eyebrows furrowed.

 

“‘s fine,” Keith responded.

 

Lance hummed in acceptance, rather watching Keith do his work. Even so, he really wanted to know the story behind those scars. They looked cool, even more badass than the cat scratch on his cheek. And Lance thought that if Keith actively didn’t wear a shirt, he would have no problem explaining the scars that took up a fraction of his stomach. But if Keith didn’t want to talk about it, then so be it. It wasn’t like it was any of Lance’s business, anyway.

 

“Okay,” Keith suddenly said, perking Lance’s attention. “Since I told you about my scars, you should tell me about yours. An eye for an eye. How about the one on your chest?”

 

Lance subconsciously looked down to the scar on his chest, a tiny but prominent trail of three circles that lined his chest.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Lance laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. He didn’t know if he was ready to share that yet. “It’s kind of a long story.

 

Keith stared at him. “We’ve got time.”

 

Lance gulped. He wasn’t accustomed to Keith’s intense stares that weren’t directed at him with distaste or malice. He wasn’t used to Keith wanting to know more about him. And he definitely wasn’t used to someone putting him on the spot, urging him to bring up memories that he no longer wanted to remember. The feeling was scary. He was considering lying to Keith, to tell him it was something stupid like he fell off his skateboard when he was twelve or he accidentally got too rowdy climbing a tree. Besides, how sure was Lance that Keith’s stories were legitimate? Keith could be lying to him for all he knows.

 

But a voice at the back of his head told him otherwise. He knew that Keith was a bad liar, he saw it in the way he stuttered and averted his eyes when he lied to a teacher or Shiro. It was obvious to a person fifty feet away. And maybe Lance did want to share the story to someone.

 

“I was, like, eight,” Lance started, not looking at Keith. He was afraid of the reaction that would come with it. “It was Thanksgiving break or something, and this random guy shows up at my door. When my mom sees him, she’s pissed, because apparently it was my dad. The only siblings that were living with me was my sister Veronica and my half-sister Rachel, who was my dad’s daughter when he cheated on my mom. I haven’t seen him since… ever, actually.”

 

Keith watched him with such intensity that Lance was pretty sure he was going to burn a hole in his head. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or worried that Keith was listening with intent. Because what if Keith used it against him? He knew he never would, but still.

 

“He was sorry or something,” Lance continued, twiddling with his thumbs. Keith started putting ointment on the cut, and Lance could barely feel the pain anymore. “For, you know, leaving my mom. She was pissed and I was confused, but my dad was begging to spend some time with me. Apparently he was trying to get his life back together or something and trying to fix his mistakes so he could move on. My mom loved him, and they raised five kids together for the last fifteen years, so of course my mom let me spend the day with him. She left me and him together to buy some food to cook a meal for us, but then…”

 

He gulped, throat constricting. Lance still hasn’t looked at Keith.

 

“I didn’t know him,” Lance explained. “I didn’t even know he was supposed to be my dad. He was asking for hugs, but I was scared and wanted my mom back. He lit a cigarette, and all I remember was that my mom _hated_ cigarettes. When I still refused to get near him, he got his cigarette and he…”

 

Lance gestures to the tiny burn marks on his chest. He finally looked at Keith, and his stomach did flips. Keith looked at him with an expression mixed with horror, pity, and something else he can’t name.

 

It didn’t feel good.

 

“Anyways, my mom got home, saw what he did, and kicked him out of our lives. She called the cops on him, but he was long gone by the time,” Lance finished.

 

“I’m sorry,” Keith apologized, his face full of regret from even asking at all.

 

“‘s fine,” Lance smiled. “It was a long time ago.”

 

“But still!” Keith exclaimed, face full of anger. Lance blinked in surprise. “He did that shit to you, and he didn’t even get arrested? How could someone do that to a kid, especially their own fucking child?”

 

Lance eyes widened at the shift of Keith’s tone. Keith’s expression was pure fury, and he was in Lance’s face, squeezing a handful of gauze. He realized that this was the first time he’s seen Keith angry _for_ him instead of at him, and he didn’t know how to feel about that.

 

He softened. “Thank you for being concerned, Keith, but I’m okay now. Why don’t you hurry up and wrap me up so we can go home?”

 

Keith looked at Lance with an unreadable expression, and grumbles before taking the gauze and wrapping around Lance’s stomach. The position was sort of uncomfortable, probably because he had to lift himself up so Keith cut out it around him.

 

“My house burned down,” Keith said under his breath, and if Lance wasn’t listening, he wouldn’t have caught it. “That’s how I got these scars.”

 

Keith didn’t implore. Lance didn’t say anything.

 

Lance wondered if the Keith he met on the first day of school and the Keith who wrapped and cleaned his cut were the same person. The Keith from two months ago was a hardass. He had strong features. His jaw was defined and his arms were sculpted. His hair was thick and his voice was a mixture of annoyance and anger. The Keith now was like beta Keith but much more focused. His cheeks, despite his jaw, were soft and puffed out. His hair looked soft and his voice too. The scar on his face that made him look badass was littered with light freckles that no one would notice unless you were two inches away from him.

 

Keith wasn’t just a teammate or a person in his class that sometimes annoyed him. He was a person.

 

They didn’t say anything to each other for a while, and for the first time, there wasn’t tension.

 

* * *

 

 

The week passed by quickly. Lance didn’t realize it was Saturday until it slapped him across the face.

 

Homecoming came and went. Lance wasn’t too excited about it, because it wasn’t as hyped up that year. They never really did anything special for the homecoming dance unlike other schools, and no one was required to go in suits and dresses but father jeans and t-shirts. So there were no cute and extravagant homecoming proposals or shit that happened in other schools. It was moreno the food that was going to be there.

 

Every year for homecoming, the students did a float that they rode across the football stadium. Of course, Lance helped out for that, mostly just to skip his classes, but it was just a float. The actual homecoming game was nothing special. They went against a Division III school up north, nothing compared to Arusia, which was a Division I school. The floats were presented, they honored some alumni that won homecoming king and queen in previous years, cheer did their halftime, and then everyone went to the dance.

 

Lance mostly hung around his friends. Everyone was compressed against each other, some people dancing on each other, and Lance even danced with a few girls. Allura, to the surprise of absolutely no one, won Homecoming queen, and well as some other dude that played volleyball that Lance never really got the opportunity to talk to. They danced together in the middle of the gym, the guy getting really into it while Allura was merely there for formalities.

 

Most of the time, however, Lance just hung at the corner. He liked to dance, sure, but he didn’t feel like dancing in a sea of teenagers who probably snuck in alcohol. Plus lately, he hasn’t been drinking that much. Or at all. Alcohol reminded him of bad memories.

 

Hunk, Pidge, and Keith weren’t there. It didn’t shock Lance too much. They weren’t the party type of people.

 

He went home early, to the protest of about two people. Nyma and Bandor were giving him puppy eyes to stay. But Nyma was with Rolo, someone he really wanted to avoid, and Bandor was with some underclassmen girls that Lance didn’t want to be associated with. He gave his farewells, before calling an Uber to take him home.

 

Once he got home, he mostly worked on his homework, assignments that weren’t due until Monday. He cleaned what he could of his room without moving around Izaac’s stuff. He always got pissy when Lance did. He cooked himself a pack of ramen noodles, washed his face, and fell asleep early.

 

So, yeah. Homecoming was okay.

 

He woke up to the disgusting sound of his phone going off. Groaning, he shuffled around to find his phone tangled in his sheets and pressed the snooze button. Once the sound stopped ringing, he sighed loudly, hands on his face. He didn’t move for another five minutes.

 

Was this truly worth it? Was waking up at six in the morning to plant _trees_ truly worth it?

 

Well, he already signed the volunteer applications.

 

He got up and groaned, the cold air hitting him full force. He shivered, trying to conceal his arms. Despite it being a good seventy degrees during the daytime, temperatures started to drop incredibly. The October weather was really starting to kick-in full force. He turned to his left, where his nephew usually slept. Izaac wasn’t there. Probably because of another sleepover.

 

His mom has started to get more lenient towards Izaac due to a few reasons. For starters, it had already been a while since he moved in with them, so his mom didn’t have to helicopter over him twenty-four seven anymore. Izaac started to open up as well, actually giving restaurant suggestions when they asked if he wanted to eat anywhere. Despite all that, the main reason was that now his mom saw Izaac as the good child ever since the fight. Lance had thought she would’ve gotten over it by now. She hasn’t.

 

Lance walked over to the kitchen, where no one was currently residing. His mom refused to wake up this early, like mother like son. He poured himself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios with milk and ate quietly by himself. He could hear the sounds of cars start to drive down the street, and vaguely remembered that he needed to save up for a car.

 

Once he was done, he washed his plate and went to the bathroom to take a quick shower. After that, he went to his room to pack his things and change.

 

He prepared relatively quickly, because it was only 6:40 by the time he was done. Lance patiently waited by looking through his phone. His instagram dms? Dry. Snapchat was no different, as well as his text messages. He was considering actually getting into a fight again if it meant his phone wouldn’t be this sad anymore.

 

Lance decided to pass time by catching up on last week's game that he recorded. Everyone’s already been talking about it, apparently Blaytz Nalquod had completely floored the opposing team. Lance never had enough time to squeeze in games into his schedule, with how hectic it already was.

 

Suddenly, there was honking outside of his house. Sighing, he already knew who the hell it was.

 

Once he slammed open the door, he was met with a white van. The type that his mom didn’t let him get ten feet near to. Hanging out of the window was Pidge, who was waving frantically at him.

 

“Get in loser, we’re going to plant some trees!” she called, almost slipping out the window.

 

“Pidge, keep your voice down!” Coran hollered with equal volume. He sat in the driver’s seat. “There are people in this neighborhood who are trying to rest.”

 

Lance felt ten times more tired than when he woke up.

 

He begrudgingly lifted his bag and walked over to the van, which was hustling with energy. He opened the door to be met with a very energetic Pidge and a Hunk who was wrapped in a comforter like a burrito. There was some 90’s rap song playing on the stereo that was way too loud. He had the feeling he was going to get a huge headache.

 

Good thing he brought Tylenol.

 

He sat all the way in the back seat, since Pidge and Hunk took up a majority of of the middle seats. Allura was in the passenger seat, coddled in a blanket and sleeping. Keith was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Jeez, Pidge,” Lance said when he settled in the backseat. He shivered, pulling his blanket over him. “What’s with the energy? It’s six in the morning.”

 

“She’s excited,” Hunk yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Apparently they’re having a dog event at the park today, with the volunteer thing.”

 

She grinned. “I wasn’t too excited for camping, but in between torturing Keith and petting cute puppies, I’m a pretty happy camper.”

 

The way she said it, he would think that she was only talking about petting the cute puppies. After all, she was only a fourteen year-old. But between her sadistic smirk and the fact that she explicitly stated that she was looking forward to seeing her friend annoyed, Lance knew anything but.

 

“By the way,” Lance said, frowning. “Where is Keith anyway?”

 

“His house is closest to the forest,” Hunk explained through his blanket. “So we decided to pick him up last.”

 

Lance frowned. He knew where Shiro lived, he’s hung around there a couple times. If Keith lived with Shiro, he was pretty sure it was the opposite side of town.

 

Nonetheless, he threw his headphones on and snuggled into his blanket closer. The forest way a good twenty minutes away from town, so if Keith lived anywhere there, he could sneak in a quick nap.

 

The sun was barely out, the sky still a grayish blue. Lance found it to be relaxing, looking at the few speeding cars and the calm hue of just blue.

 

He plugged in his earphones. The sound of sad trap music filled his ears. If he were being honest, Lance wasn’t really a fan of that type of music. But it’s what everyone listened to and posted as their captions on Snapchat, and it’s what everyone he new liked to listen to.

 

They arrived at a small suburban community, not too large, but not too run down either. The area was covered with trees and plants.

 

Shiro’s house was fairly large, considering he was a high-school faculty member who made a little over minimum wage. It was two stories, brown, and covered with flower beds that looked well-kept. It was kind of shocking, actually. Despite his attempts to seem like a well-rounded put together former veteran, which most people believed, he was actually quite a mess.

 

“Jeez, he’s still not out?” Allura hissed under the comfort of her blanket. “Someone call him.”

 

Right as she said that, the door to the house opened to a very reluctant looking Keith and an annoyed Shiro. Shiro looked exhausted, in a grey sweater and pajama pants. He shoved Keith out the door, which Keith looked particularly ticked off by. They were passive-aggressively arguing with each other, until Shiro closed the door with a little wave to the protesting Keith.

 

Yikes. Lance looked away once Keith headed over to the van.

 

Pidge opened the door to Keith, who looked like he was just run over by a truck. “Did you even _bother_ combing your hair today?”

 

He didn’t say anything but a glare. She scooted over so Keith and his bag could have some space.

 

The ride over was pretty uneventful. Allura and Hunk went back to their respective naps. Pidge went back to her Gameboy where she was playing what looked to be Pokémon, Lance couldn’t tell. Keith was glaring at absolutely nothing, looking out the window like he was in some type of drama. Lance almost felt bad for the pedestrians walking by who caught a glimpse of Keith.

 

Lance was scrolling through his phone, where some people had just woken up. Some people had already sent him streaks on Snapchat, and he pities them for whatever reason they had to get up so early. Nyma has sent him a weird, out-of-context meme on Instagram that told him that she probably hadn’t slept at all and was holding onto the last of her consciousness. And Dak has sent him a really basic, generic meme from one of those accounts with millions of followers. It wasn’t funny at all.

 

He still replied with laughing emojis.

 

“ _Dude_ ,” Pidge suddenly said, grabbing Lance’s attention. “Look at how pretty all of these trees are. They’re like purple and shit.”

 

She was right. The green deciduous trees of the road that led into the forest were starting to turn their signature fall colors. Most were still partially green, but there was a flurry of reds, oranges, yellows, and a surprising number of purplish looking ones as well. There were piles and piles and piles of leaves that fell off the maple trees.

 

Something wasn’t right. Olkari Forest didn’t _have_ maple trees.

 

“Are you sure we’re heading the right way?” Lance asked, eyebrows narrowing.

 

“According to the GPS,” Coran announced. “It says we are heading towards the main office of Olkari Forest, so I presume we are.”

 

Lance frowned. “I thought Olkari Forest didn’t have maple trees?”

 

“You silly goose,” Pidge said, not looking up from her Gameboy. She was in a pretty heated Pokémon battle in the moment. “That’s Oriande Forest, which is more at the South Coast. There’s no maple trees over there, just a bunch of oak.”

 

He was confused. This whole time, he was expecting to be taking a two hour trip down to the forest by the beach. Lance even brought his swim trunks. He was never a forest type of guy to begin with, so sue him for not knowing the differences between two forests with similar names. So, if they were going to Olkari Forest, which was apparently not Oriande, that meant they were going more north-

 

His mind’s gears shifted into place, and he felt a churn in his stomach.

 

“Pidge?” he asked cautiously. “Is there a resort near here?”

 

“Jesus,” she laughed. “We haven’t even gotten to the forest yet and you’re already looking to relax? Yeah, there’s a resort near where the tourist area is. It’s pretty small though.”

 

“ _Where_?” he demanded almost immediately, which he instantly regretted. Both Allura and Hunk had turned their heads curiously towards Lance, and even Keith was looking at him at the corner of his eye.

 

He didn’t really care though, because an answer is more important than his sanity. The purple leaves started to look less pretty. The piles of leaves looked like clouds now felt suffocating. Or maybe it was just him holding in his breath.

 

Pidge blinked, confused at Lance. “What do you mean? It’s in the middle of the Olkari Forest. Atlas Pointe.”

 

Lance could pinpoint the moment he felt his mouth dry. Because in that moment, he felt like a million pins and needles struck his stomach at the same time. He felt his vision sting in a way that made him feel like he was looking directly into the sun. He could pinpoint that moment because right then and there, he felt like he was going to throw up. And all he could do was stare at Pidge.

 

“Lance?” Hunk asked, snapping Lance out of it. “Are you okay? You look like you’re sick or something.”

 

He swallowed, making sure his voice didn’t crack as he said, “Yeah, I’m good.”

 

Hunk didn’t look too convinced. “You sure?”

 

“Yeah,” Lance repeated, smoothening himself out, making sure his voice didn’t crack, because _fuck_ if it did. He gave Hunk a grin. “I was just pretty sure that Atlas Pointe was in Oriande. Must be the Mandela Effect or something.”

 

“So you’re done?” Keith deadpanned, plugging his earphones back in. “‘cause if not, some of us are actually trying to get some sleep in.”

 

Pidge slapped him on the arm, probably trying to tell him that what he said was rude. Allura went back to her slumber, mumbling something about how annoying they were. Hunk just looked at him curiously. Lance quickly averted his eyes, and Hunn reluctantly went back to his phone, giving one last look of worry.

 

Lance didn’t have the stomach to come up with a comeback for Keith.

 

* * *

 

 

“All right paladins! Allura is retrieving and turning in all volunteer applications, so I suggest you all use the restroom and grab snacks before she returns,” Coran announced, fastening his backpack. “I’ll be using the restroom for the time being, so make sure you lot stick together! It’s number two on the scout’s book of honor.”

 

He saluted then, and then marched away, combat boots and all. As he walked, Coran caught the attention of multiple visitors and tourists, who giggled as he stalked past. If he were to take a wild guess, it would probably be the full on Indiana Jones cosplay he had on, his overstuffed backpack, and the fact that his shorts would probably make school administrators’ heads roll. If Lance didn’t know him at all, he would think that Coran was a tourist himself.

 

“Should we tell him that the restrooms are the opposite way?” Pidge whispered to Hunk.

 

“Oh, I think he know,” he shuddered, as he watched Coran walk into the woods.

 

They arrived at the Olkarian Forest Center only an hour after he was picked up from his house. To his surprise, there were a bunch of people already there, ranging from a class of five year olds with what looked to be their first grade teacher, to elderly couples who looked fresh into retirement. Apparently, the whole thing would start at eight, which meant he had to expect even more people to flood in.

 

The forest itself was beautiful. The trees were large and towering, almost like skyscrapers in New York. They were also very thick, to the point where Lance was convinced someone could carve a hole in one of them and live snugly in it. The leaves were very pretty looking teal-green, and huge, the sun barely peeking through the top. But even he could tell something was wrong. The air still had an after scent of something that was burnt, and Lance could guess what it was.

 

The tourist center was fairly large as well. It disguised itself as a cozy but big cabin with vending machines and a line of people waiting to use the bathrooms. There were signs around that told community guidelines and rules about not littering, and some that told information about the history of the forest. It was surrounded by a lot of benches that were just carved tree trunks. They all had just sat on the largest tree-trunk bench together, waiting for Allura to come back with their volunteer pins.

 

“Can I sit here?” someone said, and Lance looked up from his phone. It was Keith, who had just came back from using the bathroom, and had some snacks in his hands.

 

“No,” Lance replied to humor himself. Keith frowned, genuinely.

 

He snorted. “I’m kidding. It’s not like I own this bench or anything.”

 

Keith mumbled something under his breath as he took the seat next to him, and Lance had to physically restrain himself from telling Keith to speak up. He did not want to deal with provoking him. But he was sort of curious to why Keith wanted to sit next to him out of all people. Pidge and Hunk were literally only a few feet away from him, arguing about some game or something. For all he knew, he could be still mad at Lance.

 

Keith nudged him, and he looked down to see him offering Lance some Cool Ranch Doritos. Lance looked at Keith curiously.

 

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t drug them or anything.”

 

He cautiously took a chip and started munching, and became increasingly aware of the rumble in his stomach. Keith looked at Lance, amused, and he looked away embarrassed. He didn’t realize his breakfast of cereal would be an insufficient as it was, but thank the lord for Cool Ranch Doritos.

 

They sat in silence for a while, silently munching on Doritos as they watched the buzz of people in front of them. He was semi-aware that his music was still playing in his headphones, lulling some sad trap song in his ear. He was also aware of the cawing of the birds deep inside the forest, and the sound of Keith’s steady breathing beside him.

 

It was Keith who broke the silence. “Lance, are you okay?”

 

His jaw clenched. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Keith turned to look at Lance, confusion laced into his expression. It took all of Lance’s willpower to face him as well.

 

“Nothing, it’s just…” Keith trailed off, staring at Lance as if he was trying to decipher something. Lance hoped he wasn’t as easy to read. “In the van, through the maple trees, you looked so spooked, like you were going to throw up. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable in front of everyone else-”

 

“So you made fun of me instead,” Lance added, dryly. He wasn’t as hungry anymore. “I get it, you hate me, let’s move on.”

 

Keith looked at him with genuine shock. “I don’t hate you, Lance. I-I thought we were friends.”

 

In retrospect, Lance shouldn’t have been so moody. Keith was giving him what he had wanted for weeks: closure. To put aside all differences so they didn’t haunt him every time he came to class, came to practice, came home. So he wasn’t trapped with guilt every time he saw the bush of unruly black hair. But in that moment, Lance felt none of that. Maybe it was the fact that he was neither at class, or at practice, or at home. Maybe it was the fact that Keith was the vulnerable one in the situation. Maybe it was the fact that after so many weeks of guilt, of confusion, of reminiscing, Lance finally, finally had some kind of power over Keith. Maybe that’s why he took advantage of it.

 

“We aren’t _friends_ ,” Lance spat, something he doesn’t do. “You made that very clear. We’re just two people who are forced to see each other every single fucking day.”

 

“But,” Keith said, eyes wide. “In the locker room we had a _bonding_ moment-“

 

“Making sure someone doesn’t bleed out to death isn’t bonding,” Lance scoffed, scooting a bit away from Keith. “talking to someone while you’re in a state of delusion isn’t bonding. I barely remember any of it.”

 

Keith was noticeably starting to get pissed, if his signature scowl didn’t indicate it. “You told me-“

 

“You don’t know anything about me,” Lance snapped. “So drop it.”

 

He looked stunned, and Lance stunned himself too. It’s not like he didn’t mean the words that came out of his mouth, because he did, but he didn’t expect to actually say it out loud. The short period of payback he felt was slowly replaced with the realization that he had said something that was downright rude. Instead of apologizing, he turned away from Keith, who had already gotten up.

 

Keith sat next to Pidge and Hunk, who quickly greeted the raven-haired boy. He had his signature scowl on his face, but with a little more hurt etched in the features. Their smiles had quickly dropped and were replaced with looks of worry that shifted over to both boys. When they looked like they were asking him what was wrong, he was quick to dismiss them. They turned back to Lance.

 

Lance was quick to ignore them, and settled by putting in his earphones again.

 

Minutes later, Allura and Coran came back, both holding some water bottles and papers. She had also changed as well, her hair tied up in a bun and her leggings and sweater replaced with jeans and a big quilted jacket.

 

They were accompanied by a girl, and Lance’s heart immediately rocketed. She was really, _really_ pretty. She was roughly shorter than Allura, meaning that she was pretty tall. Her dark hair was tucked back into a high ponytail, showing off her bright colored eyes and high cheekbones. She was wearing a yellow windbreaker and leggings, and fuck, she had really nice legs. Hiding her eyes were wire-framed glasses that made her eyes stand out.

 

Perhaps it was love at first sight. Well, excluding every other girl Lance tried to go out with.

 

“Since we got here pretty early, the coordinators are letting us be some of the first people to start on the project,” Allura informed, beaming. She lifted her sunglasses to the top of her head. “Meaning we get to be in the picture for the newspaper as well.”

 

“Nice!” Pidge said, jumping from her spot on the bench. “This will be perfect for college applications when they see me on the newspaper. I hope they get my good side though.”

 

“Me too,” Lance grinned, his bad mood fading away. He turned to the girl, who was eyeing him curiously. “But every side is my good side, so there really won’t be a problem there.”

 

Allura looked at him in a mixture between exhausted annoyance and wanting to punch him in the face. Lance could relate. “ _Anyways_ , they want us to be in separate groups from other volunteers to lead us to the sight we’ll be primarily working on. So, Nadia here will be our leader for today.”

 

The girl- Nadia, came forward. “I’m Nadia Rizavi. My dad’s Ishaan Rizavi, one of the main sponsors and donator for the restoration of Olkari. This is one of the city’s most ambitious projects in years. I’m here mainly to make sure everything goes in check and to help you guys, but other than that, just think of me as another volunteer in your guys’ organization.”

 

“Fantastic,” Allura gleamed. “Well, why don’t you get to know the rest of the crew. You already met Coran and I. This is Pidge, Hunk, Lance-“

 

“I’m Lance, pleasure to meet you,” He said with a confident smirk, holding out his hand to shake hers. He could practically hear the exasperated look on Hunk’s face. Allura looked like she wanted to die.

 

Nadia looked at him with a moment of curiosity, then smiled. She took his hand. “Pleasure’s all mine, _Lance_. Now, we should-“

 

She paused, eyes widening in disbelief. First, he was confused, quickly letting go of her hand. Then he started to fear the worst. Was there something on his face? Did he have a pimple? Did his breath smell? Unlikely, considering that he was chewing mints only, like five seconds ago. Was she allergic to peppermint? God, if Lance was charged for murdering a girl through his minty-fresh breath, his mom would kill him.

 

“Kogane?” Nadia exclaimed in bewilderment.

 

Lance quickly spun his head around, completely forgetting that Keith was even there. He was there all right, scowling and crossing his arms, and it only took three seconds for Lance to decipher Keith’s signature expression towards the girl.

 

Unwanted recognition.

 

“Keith?” Pidge quipped, suddenly intrigued.

 

Lance groaned. “ _Keith_?”

 

The raven-haired boy looked like he was getting pretty annoyed. Keith scoffed. “That’s my name, _Rizavi_.”

 

Nadia was beaming. Allura stood at the side, perplexed by the situation. Hunk and Pidge were still eating their snacks. Lance was wondering how the hell such a pretty girl knew Keith, even was happy to see him. As far as he knew, no one ever was. Plus, Arusia was the only high school in the near area.

 

“Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in-“ her words quickly die on her tongue and her excitement fizzled out. One look at Keith, and anyone could tell he did not mirror her amusement. She coughed in her hand, as if she just realized something. “N-Nevermind. Um, I guess we should start heading to the site.”

 

She walked past the group, not keeping any eye contact with Keith, who looked pissed off. Nadia ushered the rest of them to follow her into the forest, where a bunch of groups were already heading down the dirt trail.

 

Lance shared a look with Hunk, and nodded his head towards Keith. Hunk shrugged, confused at what happened as well, so they both just started walking.

 

“Olkari used to be a thriving forest,” Nadia explained as she guided them deeper into the forest. The sun was starting to get more and more blocked out, making Lance shiver. “It used to cover a third of Arusia before, you know, settlers came in. They cut down most of the trees and this became and lumbering town. Because of its financial stability and the fact that it was next to a beach, it quickly grew. Not as fast as boomtowns, though. There wasn’t any gold in these hills. But as much as they chopped down trees, they still kept a large portion for reservation. It still covered where most of the restaurants and shops are today.”

 

Hunk frowned. “So what happened?”

 

“John Lubos,” she glowered, pushing her glasses up. “He was a town council member in the 60s, who was almost mayor. This was twenty years after Olkari was deemed a state park. But that didn’t stop him from selling acres and acres of land on the downlow. He purposely burned down trees of the land he sold, and told everyone the soil and land was too burnt to be used again. They caught him, but after a quarter of the land had already been sold off.”

 

Lance listened intently. To be honest, he didn’t know much about the forest, except that it’s apparently a big part of the town’s income. His family had always told him to actively avoid even going in the area.

 

Nadia sighed. “Even if we’re extra careful now, who knows what will happen to this forest. A lot of animals had already been killed off, and a number of them are on the endangered species list, but no one cares because they’re not cute baby pandas. Not to mention that  the recent fires had burned out a fraction of the forest. We can’t afford to let this place die. My family and a bunch of other families are doing everything they can to sustain it.”

 

“We’re sorry to hear that,” Allura sympathized. “But I’m sure this event you helped organize will greatly benefit the cause.”

 

“Thank you,” Nadia smiled, appreciative. She grabbed Allura’s shoulder. “I’m going to walk in the back of the group to make sure that you’re all here and don’t wander into the wilderness and get kidnapped. I’m sure none of you guys will do that, but it’s protocol, so Allura will lead the group now.”

 

She walked to the back of the group, where coincidentally, Lance was. He was trying to stay as far away from the others as he could, because he didn’t want to run into Keith again, and Pidge and Hunk asked too many questions. He loved Coran to death, but sometimes Lance didn’t want to listen to him go on and on about his boy scout expertise. And he was pretty sure Allura was low-key annoyed by him flirting with the water bottle girl when they arrived, the cashier at the gift shop, Nadia…

 

“Honestly, that sucks,” Lance said. “I didn’t know all of that shit was happening in the forest.”

 

Nadia shrugged. “The councilmen don’t really want their town’s misdoings as a common topic of discussion, so they kept it lowkey most of the time. But keeping it lowkey was what got us into this mess in the first place.”

 

“Well,” Lance grinned, hands in his pockets. “If you look at it like this, if it weren’t for that, we would never had met.”

 

Nadia smirked, amused. “I have a slight suspicion you’re trying to flirt with me.”

 

He mockingly put his hand over his heart, and she laughed. “Ah, you’ve caught me.”

 

Pidge and Hunk looked over to Lance and Nadia, curiously. She had a look of knowing on her face, and she rolled her eyes at the sight of them laughing with each other.

 

“I appreciate the effort, truly,” she giggled. “But I’m actually in a relationship.”

 

“Damn,” Lance sighed, but with no real disdain. “I had a slight suspicion, but at l shot my shot.”

 

Honestly, Lance _did_ have a slight suspicion that she was in a relationship. He always had an intuition if people were with someone or not. It was just the way Nadia carried herself, they way she spoke, etcetera. But he wanted to at least try if he was wrong. After all, she was really cute.

 

“Now they we got that out of the way…” she said, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “I see that you’re in football. Any chance you play with Kogane over there?”

 

Ah. So this is where this conversation was going. He sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately. How do you two know each other, anyway?”

 

She hummed. “I go to Garrison High up North. We were classmates, Keith and I. We knew each other fairly well because of honors and advanced classes. Despite me working my ass off, he was still ranked higher than me without even trying. A lot of girls had a crush on him, which was weird, because he always kept to himself. A complete opposite of his brother, really.”

 

Garrison High. Lance knew that name well. They were the school for rich elitist kids who had enough money to wear fancy uniforms. Plus, they had an amazing football program, second only to Arusia itself. All he knew was that Shiro went when he was a teenager and basically brought that whole team to a Division III team to a Division I team.

 

Once upon a time, Lance wanted to go when he was younger. Now, he wouldn’t switch schools for the world.

 

“Last time I checked, Shiro wasn’t that rich,” Lance frowned. “How’s Keith get in?”

 

“Easy. Scholarship,” Nadia stated simply. “Garrison doesn’t want to seem like _too_ much of a rich kid school, so they allow only really smart  people free tuition. Keith’s brains combined with the fact that Takashi Shirogane was his alumni, and he was accepted immediately. The only negative was his record of getting into trouble into his old school. A lot.”

 

“Really?” Lance mused. Keith really hadn’t changed one bit.

 

Nadia smiled, as if Keith beating up someone brought back fond memories. “Mhm. But he never got into any trouble the two years he was at Garrison. He raised our average GPA, played football to championships, and stole the hearts of a lot of freshmen girls.”

 

Keith did have a knack of doing that. Lance remembers at the beginning of the year when he constantly overheard underclassmen and upperclassmen alike talking about how attractive he was, until it sizzled out after a few weeks.

 

“So what happened?” Lance asked.

 

She bit her lip. “His pacifist streak ended at the end of sophomore year. A girl asked him if they could grab a meal together, which happened frequently, but he told her he didn’t like her. She asked what about her he didn’t like, and he said the _girl_ part. You can imagine how quickly that spread. People stopped trying talking to him. He looked fine with it, but it spiraled out of control. One day at the start of football conditioning for the upcoming year, my friend James- he’s a dumbass, a complete idiot- made a joke about how his dad would feel that his son turned out to be a-“

 

She stopped mid-sentence, and Lance didn’t have to use a lot of imagination to finish the end of the sentence.

 

“They got into a fight,” she furthered. “Keith broke James’ nose. The Garrison expelled him. They couldn’t have their reputation tarnished by some middle-class gay _delinquent_.”

 

She spat out the last part like it was poison, as if it hurt to say it. Lance felt his heart pang in his chest. Was Nadia homophobic?

 

He couldn’t say anything. What else was there to say? The conversation had gone to playful to intense in a matter of minutes.

 

They arrive at a large clearing in an area that was surrounded by trees. It was mainly mostly just dirt. From the looks of the floor and the faint smell of burnt wood, Lance concluded that this was the spot of the main event. He knew there were other areas of the forest that were charred, but most of the cameras and set-up was in the clearing.

 

There were so many reporters and so many vans. Lance briefly wondered if this much electricity was _good_ for the environment. Nevertheless, there were piles of dirt with shovels impaled into them, with little baby trees in sacks lounging next to them. That’s where the sponsors and directors probably would be. They made their way to the outer corners where other people resided.

 

“Okay, um,” Nadia started, looking at her phone for what looked like instructions. “We wait for their whole tear-jerking speech thing to be done, then the performance by the marching band, and then the whole list of their sponsors, which might take awhile. Then we wait for the important people to go up to the shovels, and then we go up there to take a picture for the newspaper.”

 

“Why _us_?” Keith asked. “There’s like, a ton of other people here.”

 

“Because of Allura,” she said simply, making Allura blush. “Of course they would want Arusia’s golden girl as the junior face of this event.”

 

She scratched the back of her neck nervously. “I wouldn’t say _that_ -“

 

“No need to be humble, Allura,” Coran announced. “You’re achievements are not something to shy away from. In academic decathlon, you excelled, as well as the win you brought your cheer competition team in the State. I am proud to be the caretaker of the young woman you have become-“

 

“Not to mention you’re going out with Lotor,” Pidge added, sipping on her bottled iced tea. “That makes you, like, twenty times more powerful-

 

“Lotor and I broke up,” Allura snapped, face as red as a beet.

 

No one said anything after that. Pidge quietly slurped her drink.

 

The ceremony started off customary. The mayor came up to the stand, talking about the pride and joy that was Arusia. It was mostly just a way for him to show off all his accomplishments, but Lance bit back his tongue. He then went on to talk about the history of the Olkari forest and how the Native Americans thrived in the forest before settlers came in, and how it was so fundamental that they drove them out of the area. Lance could see Allura fuming in the corner.

 

After, the school marching band came to play the national anthem. Hunk and Lance were having a hard time trying to keep quiet, because they were silently laughing over the mayor looking like the Pringle’s dude. There were some older people glaring at them.

 

When the digging started, Nadia gave them a thumbs up before walking over to a man who looked to be her father. A line of older men and women lined in front of the shovels. This was the signal for Allura and the others to come next to the line of smaller shovels.

 

“Everyone say cheese!” The cameraman said, and took the picture. Allura was in the middle.

 

“Now that we have all of the formalities out of the way,” the mayor announced, straightening his tie. “I think we should start digging!”

 

Clapping erupted as the sponsors picked up their shovels and hit the dirt. News anchors voices filled the air as more and more volunteers came with shovels and started digging the ground.

 

Pidge was laughing as Hunk and Keith threw dirt on each other. Hunk had shoveled up dirt and threw it at Keith’s face, and to Lance’s surprise, Keith started _laughing_. Allura was smiling too hard at the camera to even notice, and if she did, she didn’t care. She was talking to reporters about the cause and how it was an honor to be there and other shit Lance didn’t care about.

 

He took a quick glance at Nadia, who was talking to her father. There was one other girl next to her. She had short, cropped dark blonde hair, and dark blue eyes. She was freckled to the point that Lance could tell from a distance. The coat she wore told him that she was far from poor, and she looked fairly young. She was probably one of Nadia’s friends from Garrison, and Lance briefly wondered if Nadia would introduce him.

 

The girl turned to Nadia with a fond look in her eyes, then cupped Nadia’s faced and kissed her.

 

Oh. At least that answered Lance’s question.

 

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk suddenly said, snapping Lance out of his trance. He had dirt on his forehead. “How much holes did you dig?”

 

Hunk was one of the people in charge of putting the tree saplings into the ground. He probably volunteered due to the fact that he was one of the only people strong enough to carry them.

 

“Um,” he looked around, pointing the holes with his finger. He turned back to Hunk. “About three. These little tree things are pretty big, after all, and the space is getting smaller.”

 

“Really?” he asked. “‘Cause Keith did nine.”

 

“I mean,” Keith suddenly said, wiping sweat from his forehead. He had just removed his jacket, and Lance could practically sense all the teenage girls drooling. “It’s just digging. It’s not like it’s _hard_ or anything.”

 

Lance felt a vein pop. “Well, I’m just getting started, Kogane.”

 

“Really? Me too,” Keith snarked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, if isn’t too much of a challenge, _McClain_ , then it shouldn’t be too hard to dig thirty holes before I do.”

 

Lance’s boredom suddenly fell, and he grinned, adrenaline flowing through his body. He smirked. “Oh, it’s on.”

 

They, somehow, got Hunk roped into the whole situation. Lance convinced Hunk to stop whatever he was doing and time whoever dug thirty before the other. Hunk, to his surprise, agreed wholeheartedly.

 

“Okay, then,” he announced, a bit warily. “Three, two, one, _go_!”

 

After a long, tiring ten minutes, Keith had twenty and Lance could only dig seventeen, and that was at Lance’s full power. That didn’t settle with Lance, because Keith had already had more to begin with, which wasn’t fair. He then challenged Keith to see how many trees they could put _into_ the holes. After that, Keith wasn’t satisfied at all because Lance was flirting with the girls who were closest to the saplings. One thing led to another, and Lance and Keith were both tied with twenty-two trees, twenty-one trees that they fertilized, two energy drinks they completely gulped down, seven laps around the entire perimeter, and five dogs that Pidge got to pet.

 

Lance heaved as he sat, ass on the dirt and everything. He had already given his sweatshirt to Hunk to hold, and his sleeves were rolled up.

 

“We’re fucking tied?” Keith said, breathless. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail. “C’mon, there has to be some kind of tie-breaker.”

 

Hunk shrugged, not even looking up from his phone.

 

“Well, shit,” Lance sighed, inhaling a bunch of air. “We could see how many of those hot-dogs we can chow down? Or maybe how many phone numbers we can get. Or-“

 

“There is no or, if, and, or _buts_ ” a familiar voice behind them snapped. Both Keith and Lance winced, and turned slowly to face Allura.

 

Her hands were crossed against her chest, and Lance could practically see the vein popping out of her forehead. Allura’s shoes had been completely soiled from the dirt and fertilizer, and she had a singular leaf in her hair. Hunk grinned sheepishly, before slowly tip-toeing away.

 

Allura groaned, rubbing her temple with one hand. “I swear, I can’t leave any of you juniors by _yourselves_. Frankly, it was embarrassing watching you guys run around like chickens. But I couldn’t do anything because I had to talk to a bunch of committee members and reporters. I would have slapped you both silly by now, but there’s a bunch of cameras around and I will not have my newborn club tarnished even further.”

 

Lance and Keith both looked down, looking like dejected puppies.

 

“Make sure you guys have all your stuff,” she sighed, hand on her hip. “It’s already 5:30PM. They’re about to start cleaning up soon, so make sure to grab something to eat. Nadia’s going to lead us to our campsite, which is apparently the quietest and bear-less part of the forest. Well, I don’t know about bear-less, but no one’s got mauled to death yet.”

 

“Where’re we camping then?” Lance asked.

 

“The best part of the forest to get the best view of the stars,” Allura beamed, slugging her bag over her shoulder. “Honestly, I’m not even sure _how_ Nadia convinced the directors to let us camp overnight there.”

 

Lance looked at her dumbly. How the fuck did she answer his question without answering it at all.

 

“He’s a little slow, if you can’t tell, ” Keith said, and Lance scowled at him. “You should be a little more specific.”

 

“There’s only one spot on the entire forest where the trees and sky are clear enough to see the stars,” Allura informed, as if it was common knowledge.

 

“Atlas Pointe.”

 

He didn’t even register her words for a good two moments. Honestly, he could have cared less where the fuck they slept, whether it be bear infested or wolf. Then, he feels the blood run from his face and his stomach plummets.

 

Atlas Pointe. Of fucking course Atlas Pointe. Despite everything, despite everything he’s been through, it always catches up to him.

 

“Are you okay?” Allura asked, snapping out of his thoughts.

 

She was frowning, the anger and annoyance drained from her face and was replaced with worry. Even Keith was wary, eyeing Lance from the corner of his vision.

 

He grinned. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s just a camp site, anyway.”

 

 _It’s just a campsite_ , he tells himself.

 

They walk over to Pidge, Hunk, and Coran, who were quietly shuffling over a game of cards. It looked like a very intense game of Egyptian War, which Pidge eventually won by slipping her hand when no one noticed the doubles. Both men groaned in agony, and they eventually all packed up as well.

 

Lance feels his chest feel heavy as he pulls his sweatshirt over his body. His head feels numb.

 

He should have never agreed to this stupid fucking trip. He should have just done the stupid individual hour volunteer work instead of a fucking overnight trip in the middle of Olkari Forest. Reading to kids for an hour or talking to old people fifty times would have been better than this. He’s stupid, he’s dumb, he’s a fucking idiot-

 

“Lance?” someone asked from above him. He looked up, tired.

 

It was Allura.

 

“I just wanted to say…” she trailed off for a few moments. He wondered if she was ever going to finish what she was saying. “I’m happy that you and Keith are getting along, even if it meant running around like monkeys.”

 

She left him with his thoughts. He stared down at his backpack, left wondering if this trip really was worth it.

 

Nadia had them ride all the way to Atlas Pointe in one of those raggedy club carts, which Lance was extremely grateful for. He didn’t know if he had the mental or physical energy to hike all the way there, and he was really starting to regret running seven laps around the perimeter. The sun was setting, the orange and red tones of the sky staining the leaves and his skin golden. The day had arrived and gone so quickly, that Lance was really starting to question if all those hours had gone by.

 

He sat next to Pidge, who was telling him about how she’s only freshmen in her AP French class and how she’s one of the only freshmen taking AP classes at all. Lance let’s himself drown in the fact that the girl next to him was an absolute genius. Forget all the universities Lance was worried about getting into. Pidge was easily going to get into an Ivy League, more so than any other would be MIT. She was a natural in technology and computers. He kind of wishes he was as accomplished as a fourteen year old girl.

 

“But the one class I absolutely fucking despise is physical education,” Pidge shuddered. “Call it stereotypical, the nerdy girl hates P.E. But seriously, we don’t actually do anything that’s physical. We run like, one mile an entire _week_. And everyone in there is either stupid or lazy or both.”

 

Lance remembered taking P.E. his freshman year, and it she wasn’t kidding. All of the “physical” stuff consisted of running a lap, then playing whatever activity they were doing for a month. Sometimes he forgets that Pidge isn’t just a scrawny girl who likes math and computers. She regularly runs in the mornings and could fend for herself if she wanted to.

 

When they arrive to the spot, Lance can’t be entirely mad at it. It _was_ a beautiful place. The air was crisp as shit, the only sounds were crickets, and he could perfectly map out the constellations if he wanted to. Even the ground was flat enough to sleep on. He hated it.

 

They set up their tents, which proved to be a bit of a hassle. Keith and Coran proved to be a disaster of a team when setting up their tent, limbs getting stuck under the fabric. It was probably just Coran wanting to follow the instructions but Keith wanting to get it over with. Pidge and Hunk managed to get theirs up, but not without trouble. It was sort of ironic how Hunk, an engineering kid, could have so much trouble building a tent. Lance and Allura’s got up just fine, with just a few scolds from her.

 

After they were done, it was Pidge who quipped. “We should build a campfire.”

 

Building a campfire took way longer than it should have, in Lance’s eyes at least. Every piece of firewood they brought back was personally inspected and judged by Coran himself. Then, the actual building part, which ended up with Hunk looking up on Google how to build a campfire. Then Allura was kind of worried of damaging the environment. It was annoying, to say the least. But they got it together. They brought out their chairs and their soft blankets, with marshmallows that Pidge just so happened to have in her bag.

 

They talked for awhile, even after all the marshmallows were burnt, eaten, or victim to the ground. First, it started with the formalities. Coran just asked all of them how they were doing in school, and that quickly led into a conversation of extracurricular activities. Which led into gossiping about people in said extracurricular activities. Which led into stories that ranged from funny to downright unbelievable. Lance was cracking up an hour into it.

 

“Let me get this straight,” Allura managed through her snorts, hands covering her mouth. Pidge and Keith could barely contain their laughter either. “You apparently got ‘tricked’ into streaking in the hallways into the Drama Club room?”

 

Hunk flushed, covering his face with more of his blanket. “I was fooled! They locked me out of the locker-room and told me my clothes were in 402. I didn’t know that Drama Club moved their freaking room! It was so embarrassing dude, I fucking hate freshmen initiation. They didn’t even do it to this year’s freshmen.”

 

“‘Cause they only do it to the good players, bud,” Lance said through a mouthful of chips. “None of the freshmen are that good this year. I remember my initiation. I had to ask out every single girl on the freshman cheer team to homecoming with a poster. It wasn’t fun.”

 

“Better than flashing your balls to a guy dressed up as King George III,” Hunk shuddered.

 

Pidge was howling with laughter, barely containing herself. Keith hid his face in his hoodie, but his eyes said that he was laughing under it all. Even Allura was giggling. Coran, despite his disapproving exterior as a teacher, bit back a smile.

 

“Okay, okay, enough of this baby high school drama crap,” Pidge wiped a tear, her laughter dying down. “Now it’s time to talk about the elephant in the room. Allura, why’d you and billionaire long-legs break-up?”

 

Allura abruptly stopped laughing. Lance was afraid that she was going to lash out at Pidge like she did earlier, but there was more to it in that moment. It was a mixture of pain, fear, and sadness.

 

“It’s… a long story,” Allura laughed nervously.

 

“We’ve got time,” Pidge responded, cocking her head.

 

She looked around, almost desperately, to see everybody watching her. Even Coran, to Lance’s surprise, seemed intrigued, meaning that he as her caretaker didn’t know the reason either. Allura sighed, slumping back in her chair.

 

“Well, Lotor and I dated for seven months,” she began, playing with her thumbs. “If you count how long we were talking, it’s been more than a year. When he messaged me at first, I thought what everyone else thought. That he was a spoiled, homeschooled rich boy who thought he could get whatever he wanted. But, to my surprise, he responded to a post on my story. It was the picture of the Melenor’s Home during Easter. It was my dad’s investment as a shelter for homeless people, for women who were being trafficked, for people who didn’t know what to do with their life. It was named after my mother, who was also a huge humanitarian in not only big cities but in small towns as well. The first thing Lotor said to me was that he was wondering where to sign up to help volunteer at the shelter, and that I was incredible that I managed to feed five hundred people in one day. Honestly, I was intrigued. It was the first time a guy ever complimented my work rather than my looks.”

 

Lance felt himself cringe in embarrassment. He remembers in freshman year when the first thing he said to her was that she was gorgeous but probably even more pretty if she went on a date with him. She politely declined, however. Thankfully.

 

“We talked that entire night,” she continued, looking at the stars. “and it wasn’t just about school and volunteering. It was about aspirations and dreams, what I wanted to be not only as a career but as a person. It was the first time I talked about these things with anyone since my dad died.”

 

“Princess,” Coran said seriously. “If you ever need to talk with anyone, you can always talk to me.”

 

“I know, it’s just I…” she trailed off, distant. “it was hard on me. And he could relate. His mom had become estranged from his life as well, but he never went into detail why. Messaging on Snapchat went to texting that went to calling that went to Facetiming and finally meeting up. Our first date was serving food at the center. It became apparent that the whole cold pretty-rich boy facade was just a cover, or at least I hoped it was. He never seemed to have any exterior motives. So we started dating, and you know how fast news travels in this town. I kind of expected him to shy away from all the dating publicity, but he welcomed it with open arms. When someone asked me on the street, he told them that we’ve been in a relationship for months now and how he thought I was amazing. I was a bit confused, because he seemed like a private person when it came to personal stuff, but I brushed it off.”

 

Lance had a sinking feeling this story wasn’t going to end well.

 

“He became more and more involved in the Home,” she spat, as if she was starting to remember why she broke up with him in the first place. “Even if I wasn’t there and didn’t know, he strolled into the place and became friendly with the inhabitants. He became more of a romantic whenever we visited, and frequently talked about renovations to the home. I was suspicious. The final straw was when he went to Melenor without my consent or calling the office and was talking to the inhabitants about finding a new place to stay. And then I found out. From his father of all fucking people. He was playing me the entire fucking time. Lotor was coaxing me into gaining control of Melenor before he would convince me to sell him the property to make renovations, only to have the entire fucking building destroyed to make room for an office building for his father’s stupid fucking mega-corporations. It was all written down in a contract, and apparently Lotor was taking his sweet ass time, which pissed off his father.”

 

Everyone was quiet. Pidge looked regretful for even asking in the first place. The only sound left was the crackling of the fire and Allura wiping away her tears.

 

“What a complete dickhole,” Keith spoke up after a moment of silence. “I hope he chokes on like, a fucking endangered iguana or whatever rich people eat.”

 

At first, the response met was complete silence. Then, Allura started snorting, then giggling, and then full blown laughing. Suddenly, everyone started laughing loudly. Hunk was full blown howling with Coran, who was heaving right next to him and Pidge was choking on her popcorn. Maybe it was the fact that it was getting pretty late and they were all pretty much delirious, but Lance honestly couldn’t remember the last time he laughed like that.

 

The only one who wasn’t laughing was Keith, who was trying to hide a smile. “I’m deadass serious. I really hopes he chokes.”

 

Allura wipes tears away, both sad and happy. She smiled. “Thank you, Keith. Honestly, thank all of you for coming. This really does mean a lot to me.”

 

“Anytime, ‘llura,” Pidge yawned, rubbing her eyes under her glasses. She pulls out her phone and squints at the bright light. “It’s getting pretty late. I think we should all start heading in.”

 

“Yeah,” Lance agreed, finding himself to be yawning as well. “I think we should all go to sleep now.”

 

Pidge nodded tiredly, already having her pillow and blankets tucked under arm. Allura shrugged, as if she didn’t care whether or not they went to bed or not. Lance was just about to pick up his stuff when he was interrupted by Hunk.

 

“Oh, no no no _no_ ,” Hunk huffed, slapping Lance’s water bottle away from his hand. Lance looks at the bottle, distraught. “You and Keith do not just get to go to sleep while the rest of us had to share embarrassing stories.”

 

“Dude, _what_?” Lance snorted. “C’mon, it’s late.”

 

“I mean-“ Pidge said, contemplating. “I _was_ forced to share a story about the time I threw up in a Walmart toy section while crying at two am.”

 

“That wasn’t forced,” Keith hissed, blankets already surrounding him. His eye bags looked more defined than usual. “You willingly told that story. In graphic detail.”

 

“Still,” Allura chimes in, and Lance wanted to bang his head against the ground. “We all had to share an uncomfortable story.”

 

They all whipped their heads at Lance, who was sipping on his Caprisun in exchange for the water bottle that had spilled. Even Keith, who had not shared one embarrassing story, was gazing at him in anticipation . Flabbergasted, he looked around the group, almost panickedly.

 

“C’mon, guys,” Lance tried again, hopefully for the last time. They all looked a little pissed off. “Why me?”

 

“Why not?” Coran asked him, curiously.

 

“Because,” he said. “What’s else is there to say about me? I’m an open book. There’s nothing more to me than what I tell you. Like that time I poured milk and mayo into the ran dressing and shoved it down my-“

 

“Ew,” Allura gagged, covering her ears. “Don’t say anymore.”

 

“What I’m _saying_ is if I had anything interesting to tell you,” Lance continued. “You would already had known it by now. Everyone would.”

 

Allura uncovered her ears, eyebrows furrowed. Everyone else murmured in agreement, because Lance did have a habit of saying what was on his mind. Or, it seemed like he did. Because, in actuality, there were things that he could have told them. A lot of things. But they wouldn’t have been funny like Hunk’s story, or depressing like Allura’s.

 

They would be terrifying.

 

“Okay, then,” Hunk shrugged. “Keith?”

 

“No,” he snapped almost instantly, and Hunk only shrugged. Keith was a private person.

 

“Well, damn,” Pidge sighed. “But there has to be some type of compensation for the rest of us.”

 

Allura grinned. It wasn’t the usual smile she had, where she gleamed like a star. It was the one that made people melt in her presence and want to propose to her on the spot. This time, it looked mischievous, and Lance did not like where this was heading.

 

“I may have an idea,” she snickered, and Lance and Keith shared a look of worry.

 

* * *

 

 

It was already twenty minutes into this tent sleeping arrangement but Lance was awake as ever. The crickets were still chirping because, you know, why wouldn’t they if he was trying to fall asleep, and the wind, as expected in the forecast, was picking up, the bristle of the trees too common to be relaxing. He could only stare at the dim light of the lantern they hung above the tent, and for the past several minutes, he had been counting the amount of times it flickered. It had been seventy-eight, if he was correct.

 

Allura had decided that Keith and Lance should sleep in the same tent together in a futile attempt to finally bridge the gap between them, much to the protest of the both of them. Lance was almost about to inform her that when Keith and him were racing, that wasn’t because they were fucking getting along, it was because Keith was pushing his buttons the entire fucking time. But instead, he opted to sleep in Pidge’s tent instead.

 

“Nuh-uh,” Allura immediately stated, crossing her arms. “School policy said that opposing genders must have separate sleeping quarters. Sorry, but it’s the rules.”

 

So he looked at Hunk with pleading eyes, who only turned away. He said that Lance either didn’t sleep at all and shuffled the entire night or he did fall asleep but tried to cuddle anything in a two feet distance of him (much to the embarrassment of Lance, because come on, that was _one_ time). Plus, Coran had troubles with PTSD, and Hunk was the only one in the group that could hold him down if he got particularly too rowdy. Lance didn’t argue much after that.

 

But Keith did. He told them that all they were going to do was argue all night and bother the rest of them, and then they would have to switch tents anyways. Allura and Pidge looked at each other and smiled.

 

That’s how they both ended up half a mile away from the campsite in the middle of the woods.

 

The team bonding experience Allura had promised had been nothing but a disappointment for her. Keith and Lance, for the most part, tolerated each other during the trip, but nothing more. It was just like in class and practice, they tolerated each other, except they had to do it during their free time because _why not_. Even if he was taken on this trip against his free will and blackmail, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t… expecting some kind of bond between him and Keith like what happened in the movies.

 

Apparently, Lance wasn’t the only one lost in his thoughts, because Keith was shuffling in his blanket too. It was soft at first, but now it was apparent that he couldn’t sleep and was almost thrashing around. Rude. At least Lance took into consideration that it would be best to be quiet.

 

Keith, in what felt like forever, finally stopped moving around. He huffed, in annoyance, and Lance could only imagine the familiar furrow in his brow when he was pissed off.

 

“Can you stop moving around?” Lance muttered lowly, shifting his position as well. The ground really hurt, and the cheap blankets weren’t doing him any good.

 

Keith huffed irritation, and Lance couldn’t help but feel slightly offended over this. It wasn’t like Lance was telling him to fuck off or anything like that. However, Lance quickly realized that Keith was probably irritated by the rocky ground they had to sleep on, not Lance. Good.

 

“I’m fucking trying,” Keith mumbled in annoyance, as he yet again shifted in his sleeping bag. “Feels like I’m sleeping on a pile of rocks.”

 

“We _are_ sleeping on a fucking pile of rocks,” Lance groans back, and now they’re both shuffling in their sleeping bags.

 

After a while of shuffling, Lance finally finds a position that doesn’t feel like he’s being stabbed in the ribs. A few minutes after, apparently so has Keith.

 

They stay quiet for a while, and eventually both of their breathing evens out. Lance continues to listen to the crackling of the trees and the owls from a distance. The shuffling of fallen leaves, which used to frighten him earlier because of too many horror films, didn’t even bother him anyone. On the contrary, it relaxed him. The forest relaxed him, which was weird, because he expected this entire field trip to be one huge headache.

 

He hasn’t really been camping in a long time. The last time he went camping was when he was seven, and that was when all his siblings still lived with him. Lance remembers how excited he was to go on an outdoor adventure, as he collected even pinecone and every cool rock he found along the way. He remembers how he begged him mom to buy marshmallows, and he remembers burning it almost every single time, to the point that his older brother had to make Lance’s s’more. He remembers how terrified he was, and every little sound that the outside of the tent created. He remembers hugging his mom as she soothes him to sleep. He remembers, and remembers, and _reminisces_.

 

It seems almost incredible that that curious seven year old boy grew up to worry about how his skin will hold up in the wilderness.

 

It was depressing that the happy little boy grew up to be _him_.

 

Five minutes pass, then twenty, and Lance still can’t fall asleep. He’s not really annoyed by the sounds of the wilderness anymore or his tent mate’s moving, but he’s in a state of drowsiness where he can’t get to the part where he actually falls into slumber. That’s the annoying part.

 

Unfortunately for him, Keith starts moving again, and now Lance is ninety-eight percent sure he’s still awake as well, judging by the huff of annoyance that comes from the dark-haired boy. Lance is fully awake now, and if sleep isn’t coming now, it won’t be anytime soon.

 

When he hears Keith huff again, he breaks the tension. “If you have one lasagna, and stack it onto another lasagna, you basically have only one lasagna.”

 

“Lance _what the fuck_.”

 

Lance turned to Keith and gave him a shit-eating grin. “What?”

 

Keith turned to him too, and was glaring daggers back. His hair was all messy and all over the place, and even in the dark, Lance could tell that Keith had some pretty dark eye bags. He should probably start using face masks. “It’s twelve and I’m tired and I’m trying to fucking sleep and I’m going to fucking _kill_ you if you don’t shut up.”

 

“But think about it. Is there a limit to how much layers a lasagna has? Can it even be classified-“

 

Keith groans loudly, interrupting Lance, and he slams his pillow onto his face. Lance is laughing loudly, and the ruffling of the trees grow louder.

 

“Fuck you and your fucking lasagna,” Keith moaned into the pillow, which just causes Lance to snort even louder. Keith throws the pillow at him in annoyance, and Lance expertly catches it, making Keith more pissed off. “Is this your way of trying to talk to people? Annoy them to death?”

 

“It’s my secret attack,” Lance said in false seriousness. “Weaken my opponent, then strike them at their lowest point.”

 

“Yeah, well I don’t think talking about food is going to work,” Keith mutters. He could practically hear the gears working in his head. “I mean, there should be a limit to lasagna, because if there are too many layers, they wouldn’t-“

 

“Keith,” Lance interrupts. “Please shut up.”

 

This successfully rattled Keith, to Lance’s pleasure. He turns to Lance, flabbergasted. “You’re the one who talking about some Olive Garden shit!”

 

“Yeah, and now I don’t want to,” he put simply, and Lance tried to bite back a laugh when Keith rolled over, groaning impatiently. “C’mon, mullet, it’s basic conversation skills. If the person you’re talking to doesn’t want to talk about lasagna anymore, then don’t talk about lasagna.”

 

Keith turned to him, squinting. Like he was trying to burn a hole through his face.

 

“Are we really going to start this again?” he seethed at Lance, who looked smug. “Why do you hate my fucking hair so much?”

 

“Why don’t you?” Lance retorted. “It personally offends me that we’re in the era of hair products and barbershops and you _still_ keep it that way.”

 

“It’s just the way my hair is,” Keith said flatly.

 

“‘ _It’s just the way my hair is_ ’,” Lance mocked, jokingly. “Jeez, Keith. You sound like you came straight from an early 2000s Fall Out Boy song. Maybe that’s why you act like a tragic mess.”

 

Keith sat up, annoyed. He shifted his weight to turn to Lance, who was still lying on the floor. Keith’s hair was even more disheveled than it usually was, which was saying something. His sweater was the blue and gold Arusia’s football hoodie they got earlier that month, but it looked huge on Keith. Lance would say he looked like a puppy, but it was Keith, who could stab him if he wanted to.

 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Keith snapped, crossing his arms. “Why do you have to be so fucking annoying all the time?”

 

“Pardon?” Lance mumbled, still not used to the light.

 

“You know what I fucking mean, you dick,” Keith exasperated.

 

“I mean,” Lance shrugged, a shit-eating grin on his face. “You make it so _easy_.”

 

“Easy?” Keith laughed humorlessly, pushing his hair back away from his face. Lance could see the red in his eyes, probably from lack of sleep. “Okay, let me get this straight. You pick on the gay Asian new kid because it’s the easy.”

 

“I literally pick on you for none of those things,” Lance clarified, staring at the ceiling. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m a brown kid. And you know I’m not homophobic.”

 

Admittedly, Lance was pulling Keith’s leg this whole time. It was his favorite pastime when he got bored. But he could sense a shift in the atmosphere, and maybe it was best for him to shut up and stop talking.

 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Keith said, unamused. His face came closer, uncrossing his arms. “I mean, how was I supposed to know when you called me a _faggot_.”

 

Pause.

 

“Can you not bring that up?” Lance sat up, frowning. He could barely see in the dark. “You know I didn’t mean that. I said sorry.”

 

“And yet here we are,” Keith seethed, venom lacing his tone. Lance could practically see the flash of anger in his eyes. “Suddenly, you act nice to me. The next moment, you act like I don’t even fucking exist. Then, you fucking hate me, acting like _I_ was the one who called you a faggot. I’m always the one  ”

 

“Stop,” Lance croaked out weakly.

 

He wasn’t joking around anymore. All jokes and jabs he was about to make to Keith were thrown out the window, because he was hurt. Both of them were. As much as Keith wanted to say it, to take the whole situation around and use it as a weapon, he couldn’t. Because it hurt him. It hurt Keith that Lance was just another homophobic straight football player. There was nothing that could change that.

 

And it hurt Lance too. Hearing it out loud from his friends was bad enough. But from Keith? It was like he was being stripped down to his most basic parts.

 

“What, this _bothers_ you?” Keith laughed ironically, because the situation was pretty ironic. The tables flipped. “Me saying faggot bothers you?”

 

“Why would it bother me?” Lance said. “I’m not the gay one.”

 

He’s not. Lance is not gay, because he was in love with a girl once, dated a few girls, and made out with many. Nothing would change that. Not even -

 

“Faggot,” Keith , and it shoots through Lance like a bullet. “faggot faggot faggot _faggot_ -“

 

He covers his ears with his hands, cupping them and squeezing his eyes shut. Lance didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or both or _neither_. Because this shouldn’t be affecting him at all because he’s not gay like Keith. Or Nadia. But it does, because it reminds him of something terrible he did. Something no one else would think twice about saying. Something he had to live with for the rest of his life. Something that both Keith and him said.

 

Sometimes Lance wonders if life created him just to crush him.

 

“Please, just fucking _stop_ ,” Lance choked out, but he could still hear the muffled voice of Keith’s that only seemed to get louder and louder.

 

Keith was Lance’s atonement for all the stupid shit he has ever done or thought of in life. He was the reckoning the Lance never wanted, never needed, but deserved. Because he was here to remind him that no matter how hard he tried to be otherwise, he wasn’t shit. In this life or his next, maybe life didn’t give a shit about him at all. It didn’t make him to beat him down black and blue until he gave in. Life probably didn’t even give two shits about him.

 

Stop.

 

“You know, I’m kinda happy Allura put us together,” Keith leered. “Maybe this is finally payback for all the shit you put me through. Ever since I met you, you made my life a living hell. Every practice you bumped into me, tripped me, laughed at me. Every single day at school. You and those assholes you call your friends. Maybe I’m going to be the person that finally deflates your ego. I don’t know how your friends put up with you. I feel bad for your mom for raising an asshole kid by herself.”

 

Lance froze, and his hands shook as he looked at Keith, shocked. His vision blurred.

 

He couldn’t see Keith’s expression. He didn’t want to.

 

Lance ran out the tent.

 

The forest air burst through his lungs immediately. The stars were on full effect, glimmering ever so prettily next to the full moon. The coos of the owls in the forest filled his ears and the rustling of leaves.

 

He couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think and just _couldn’t_. Lance stared at his hands that were shaking, but not from the cold. He looked up. The stars in the sky seemed like they were burning holes into his figure, like they were spotlights that were meant to showcase him to the universe. The hilarity of the pitiful brown Cuban boy.

 

Keith quickly followed him after. “You’re running away, right? Like you do with everything? Every time there’s a problem, you run away. Some asshole from Daibazaal takes your position and you just deal with it. Rolo takes Nyma back and you just deal with it. Your mom refuses to talk to you and you deal with it. Are you really so scared of facing decisions?”

 

Lance whipped his head to Keith, who’s hands were balled into fists. He felt like he couldn’t speak or make any noise, because he felt like if he did, tears would spill. He made it this far without crying in front of anybody. He can made it a lifetime.

 

“Or, _oh_ , I get it,” Keith ranted on. “You’re not scared of anything because you don’t care about _anything_! You don’t care about football, or Nyma, or your own mother.”

 

“Shut the fuck up Keith,” Lance snapped for the first time that night. The breeze was flowing through his hair. “Want to talk about parents? Shiro’s parents live in upstate Sacramento, which means that you were either a brat or a fucking nuisance enough where your parents didn’t want to be in the same _city_ as you. Probably due to all those expulsions, huh?”

 

Keith’s jaw visibly clenched, and he looked more upset than before. Than Lance had ever saw him.

 

“You know nothing about me,” Keith said, mirroring what Lance had said earlier.

 

“So it’s true then, huh?” Lance demanded. “That you were just some bratty kid that got into too many fights? Can’t believe Acxa lied to me about you being from Texas, you don’t even have an accent.”

 

“I wasn’t lying,” Keith seethed, clenching and unclenching his fists. The moonlight that shone on Keith’s face emphasized the harsh lines of his temper. “and I don’t think I am now. No one can say the same about you, because you lie about fucking everything. You act fine when you’re not, and you act like a good guy but you’re not. And the thing about it is, you’re so _good_ at lying. Even I was fooled. The biggest lie you told yourself was that you were sorry.”

 

He wasn’t wrong. Lance was such a good liar sometimes he fooled himself. He can’t even remember the last time he told the truth. Not _a_ truth, but an honest thought of his that hasn’t been filtered or censored in some type of way. Because Lance is not a good person when he was a good liar.

 

“Yeah,” Lance said. “I am a fucking liar. I’m not sorry. Being gay isn’t normal, Keith. Everyone thinks I’m a fun, happy go lucky guy when I’m not, and you’re one of the only people who can see through that and I hate it and I hate _you_.”

 

 _Are you happy now_ ? Lance thought to himself. _Will you stop now_?

 

When Lance thinks about it, he can’t stop thinking about it. Because everything that has happened to him was all his fault on some level. It was his fault he was isolated from his family because he was born too late. It was his fault his dad left him because he wasn’t worth the time. It was his fault that everyone in primary school treated him differently because he told his mom he didn’t need new clothes because he already had some from the _mercado de pulgas_. It was his fault that he couldn’t keep a girlfriend. It was his fault he wasn’t a good enough quarterback. It was his fault he got almost suspended. It was his fault Rolo kissed him. It was his fault Veronica-

 

Lance almost choked.

 

“... are you done yet?” Lance deadpanned, taking a deep breath. “because you’re pretty much right about everything so far. I’m selfish, annoying, homophobic, and a fucking liar.”

 

“No, because you don’t _care_!” Keith stressed, tugging at his hair. “You’re acting like you don’t care when I know you fucking do, Lance!”

 

“Stop,” Lance seethed, way over this shit. “You act like you’re so fucking intelligent and smart and insightful. You don’t know jackshit about me, Kogane. You don’t know _anything_ about me. No one does.”

 

Eyes wide, Keith took one step back, stunned. Lance could hear the heavy beating of his heart against his chest. It was almost as Keith was on the brink of realizing something, and if history has taught Lance anything, it was that the discovery of something by a dude was not something to usually celebrate. His vision felt hot.

 

 _Don’t cry_ , he told himself. _For the love of God, please don’t fucking cry_.

 

“Because honestly, I don’t really care,” Lance told him.

 

Those six words were apparently the last straw.

 

Keith lost it.

 

“We’re in the middle of the fucking wilderness, Lance!” Keith screamed, pointing to the sky erratically. “and you still act like a piece of shit. Allura, Hunk, fuck- even Shiro was wrong about you. Do you even care about anything besides yourself?”

 

 _Yes_ , his mind screamed, but the words got stuck in his throat.

 

He was suffocating.

 

“You’re every snotty asshole that’s ever graced the planet Earth. All you care about is football and pulling girls and how many views you get on your Snapchat story like the bland suburban _fuckboy_ you put yourself out to be,” Keith spat, disgusted, looking at Lance like the dirt under his shoe. “you’re disrespectful, loud, obnoxious, and don’t give a shit about your friends when their worried about you. You wallow by yourself for attention.”

 

Attention. Something he’s always had but would never achieve. The word is muddled in his brain when he processed it, but honestly, he’s barely processed the words that spewed out of Keith’s mouth at this point. What’s he saying that he hasn’t heard before?

 

“And even now, you’re looking at me with a smug ass face like you’re not even fucking fazed! You know how frustrating that is?”

 

“What do you care about?”

 

Everything.

 

“Nothing,” he responded, looking at the floor with clenched fists. His hands were still shaking. He refused to cry.  

 

Lance began to wonder how his life ended up this way: with Keith being the center of it all. Keith was the challenge from day one, in academics and sports alike. And now Keith was the source of most of his problems that somehow ended up exposing his old ones that he had buried deep inside his chest. How did he go from that football player in high school to being a lifeless mess in the middle of Olkari Forest? How did he come to this point of his life?

 

What was the point? It was all going to end up the same. He was going to die one day, surrounded by no one, forgotten by everyone. He thought he accepted that a long time ago, but he wasn’t so sure anymore.

 

“You’re a complete uncensored asswipe McClain. What are you so afraid of? Me?”

 

He didn’t respond. He didn’t want to cry.

 

“Are you afraid that I’m better than you? That after all your hard work I’m going to be the gay honor student quarterback and you’re going to be second best like always?”

 

He didn’t respond. He refused to cry.

 

“Or are you afraid that everyone will see you for what you really are? An insecure, lonely loser. Is that what you’re afraid of?”

 

He didn’t respond. He _refused_ to cry.

 

Lance couldn’t see the leaves on the ground anymore, or the socks on his feet. His vision was too blurred at this point. He could feel his throat constrict tightly, taking in every single thing that Keith had said. What was he afraid of? The truth. To acknowledge it. Because here he was, in the forest of his ghosts, that reminded him that no matter how hard he tried to bury them away, they would always come back to haunt him. He deserved it. But does he deserve this? Does he deserve the constant reminder of the fact that everything he’s ever done or prayed for has consequence? Why was this happening to him.

 

Lance didn’t ask for this life. He didn’t ask to be in a tent with the one person that hated him with their entire being. He didn’t ask for a lifetime of suffering. What was Keith trying to do with him. Beat him up again until he pushed over and over again until Keith was satisfied?

 

He looked at his hands that were shaking. The ones that were afraid. Lance couldn’t take this anymore. He couldn’t take the weight of it all anymore. Lance finally accepted it.

 

“What are you so afraid of?!” Keith cried, frustration etched in his expression and tone. There were a few in shed tears in his eyes.

 

Lance lost it.

 

“You want to know what I’m fucking afraid of?” Lance screamed with his voice cracking, finally looking at Keith with tears streaming down his face. He had lost it. “I’m afraid of dying alone and forgotten like Veronica!”

 

He was crying now, hot tears falling down his face and throat like a waterfall. Lance found out the hard way that when he started, there was no way for him to stop. He couldn’t stop sobbing.

 

Lance had finally been defeated by life.

 

There was a stunned silence that filled the atmosphere as Lance rubbed his eyes clean, even when tears continued to fall. The wind had stopped blowing and the crickets stopped chirping. He couldn’t even hear the buzzing of the bugs that had been so annoying only a few minutes ago.

 

And then there was Keith, who stood there, frozen. He had looked like he had been slapped across the face.

 

“V-Veronica?” Keith whispered. “Who’s Veronica?”

 

Lance took a number of deep breaths from a technique he remembers he saw on Twitter or some shit. He was staring at the ground again, trying to collect his thoughts. Okay, so he lost his cool. In front of Keith. Great. The damage control system inside his mind was going absolutely nuts.

 

Lance sat down on the leaf-covered floor, putting his head to his knees to try and calm down. He steadied his breathing. “My sister.”

 

“Fuck, Lance, I’m so sorry-“ Keith apologized, horrified.

 

“But you’re right,” Lance snapped his head up, eyes red and puffy. “I’m a homophobic asshole who lies a lot and doesn’t care about anything at all. Fuck, Keith, maybe I should be apologizing to you.”

 

They both looked like they were about to say something, but both kept their mouths shut. It was a comical sight, really. Lance was just sitting on a pile of leaves on the ground in only sweatpants and a long sleeve and Keith was just awkwardly hovering over him, stumbling over what he was going to say.

 

“Maybe we should go back inside,” he suggested quietly after a while, and Keith nodded, dissociated.

 

Lance headed in first, not daring to look at Keith’s face, who stared at him longingly. As if he wanted to say something. He couldn’t bare to look at the raven-haired boy any longer. This whole situation was a mistake.

 

This was a mistake.

 

Keith followed a little while after Lance. He assumed he was lingering outside to gather his thoughts like what Lance was doing inside. Maybe he was trying to calm down. After all, it probably took a lot of restraint to not punch Lance in the face in the heat of the moment.

 

He didn’t actually see Keith get into the tent. His back was faced away, and he could only hear the shuffling of another body taking up space inside the small area.

 

They didn’t talk. He assumed because Keith had no idea what to say. Neither did Lance.

 

The crickets started to chirp again.

 

Lance can’t believe he fucking cried. Not only did he bawl his eyes out, but it was in front of Keith of all people. His arch-nemesis. The one he hated the most. The one that hated him the most. Jesus, if Dak had seen the situation, he would have never let Lance live it down for the rest of his life.

 

Lance, unconsciously, could still sense that Keith had something to say to him. There was unresolved tension in the small space they shared, and Lance could only hope that Keith wouldn’t say anything to the others.

 

Instead, Keith croaked out. “What happened?”

 

Lance turned his body to face the ceiling, but not towards Keith. Not yet.

 

“It’s a lot,” Lance mumbled back. “It’s a long story. You’ll get bored.”

 

“We’ve got time,” Keith whispered back, and Lance gulped.

 

He considered the options ahead of him. First, he could completely ignore Keith. That would probably lead to them never talking to each other again and Keith refusing to even breathe the same air as Lance. They would be on selena the paths, and as much as Lance tried to convince himself that was what he wanted since the beginning, he couldn’t bring himself to even consider that option. Or he could finally, _finally_ tell someone what’s been bothering him for all these months. Why his eyes became so dull. But the thought of telling anyone, not just Keith, scared him.

 

It scared him to be vulnerable in front of people. Even that was hard for him to admit.

 

But something was tugging at him, urging him to finally release the burdens that he carried on his back for months now. So he didn’t even realize it when he began to speak.

 

“Veronica… was incredible,” Lance began, staring numbly at the later that swung back and forth. “Despite what everyone may think about Hispanic families, not every single one was close to each other. Mine was kind of like that, but I felt like maybe I was the only one who didn’t feel as close to my siblings as they felt to each other. Being the youngest by a decade made me sort of… the afterthought. Like I was just another mouth to feed.  But the only one who made me feel like I actually had a sister was Veronica. She was ten years older than me. While my mom worked, she became my second mom. She cooked, she cleaned, she even calmed me through my worst tantrums. And you could imagine, they were _terrible_.”

 

Lance laughed at the thought, reminded of the picture of him at four years old, crying as a fourteen-year old Veronica chased him around with a GoGurt in her hand in a feeble attempt to try and to get him to eat. It hurt thinking about it.

 

“I’m pretty sure all my siblings found me annoying. After four brothers and sisters, and especially at their age of being high schoolers, it wouldn’t had surprised me when they joked about me being another nuisance to take care of,” Lance reminisced quietly. “That’s why I was so close to Veronica. She didn’t see me as just another mistake my mom made with my dad. She saw me as her little brother, and that meant everything to me. Veronica was incredible in school, too. She was a varsity volleyball player since she was a freshmen, and even medaled in track. Veronica was even the one who introduced me to school football, and she bought me my first jersey. She was insanely smart too, one of the top ten in the entire school. Every weekend, she brought over a new friend. I found her to be the coolest person ever.”

 

Keith hummed, as if to indicate that he was listening.

 

“But she got into a lot of fights with my mom,” he said. “They would be always fighting about the stupidest stuff, like where they put the hairdryer or who’s turn it was to take out the trash. But my mom was always right. Sometimes I think Veronica only picked fights with her so she could be right for once. She starts going out more and staying out later. Of course, my mom was always pissed, but she didn’t do anything. My mom didn’t want to regulate her like her parents had done to her.”

 

“A lot of things happened at once,” he continued. “Suddenly, her grades started to drop. She got into a fight with this girl on the volleyball at a party. My mom was pissed. They got into more and more fights, and it got worse as my brother’s began to move out. The final straw is when my sister came home and told my mom, at fifteen, that she was pregnant.”

 

He remembers this fight vividly, and he wasn’t even in the room with them. He woke up to screaming and crying from both parties. Lance was only five.

 

“Veronica was a junior when she dropped out of high school. It was almost ironic that the high school golden girl got knocked up. It spread like wildfire. She stopped bringing over friends. When I was younger, I had just thought she was too stressed to relax with her friends. As I got older, I began to realize it was because _they_ didn’t want to be seen with her anymore,” Lance trembled. The thought of her friends abandoning her when she needed them the most made him sick. “It was a year later that she left home with my nephew.”

 

“I was scared, I was hurt, I felt betrayed. The only person in my life who cared about me _left_ me,” he choked, voice cracking on the last part. “I didn’t even stop to realize that she was the one who was scared, hurt, and betrayed. Veronica was forced to get a job at one of the most remote places in town. The Atlas Pointe tourist attraction center.”

 

He could hear Keith’s breath visibly hutch as he went on.

 

“If anyone knows anything about this place, it’s that a lot of rich creepy people hang around here,” he spat. “And if anyone knew Veronica, they would know she hated rich creepy people. But she pushed through. Even if that resort had perverts that-that _tried_ things on her, she persevered. Because there were only so many jobs a single mother without a high school degree could get.”

 

“My family stopped talking about Veronica at Christmas. It used to be the main gossip, but eventually, they got bored of it,” he went on. “My mom stopped trying to call her. After a few years, I got over the shock too. But she stilled called me, against my mom’s wishes. She facetimed me and gave me updates on my nephew, Izaac. I visited her after school. I was the only connection she had back with our family. It was good for a while. It was fine.”

 

“Last may, she was driving down from work. It was dark and rainy and late. She was trying to get home when she noticed the same car turning every turn she made. This dude was tailing her. I don’t know the exact details, and I don’t even think I want to know,” he croaked out, tears falling into his ears. “But she crashed. Died at three fifteen in the morning. She was twenty-seven. Her funeral was the next week, and Izaac moved in with us.”

 

Keith was quiet, and Lance was so, so glad he was. Because he didn’t think he could continue on without crying.

 

“I couldn’t tell anyone. I don’t think I had the willpower to,” he said, his heart breaking all over again. “Because apparently no one else had the willpower to. The only ones who showed up at her funeral was me, my mom, Izaac, and a few other distant relatives and her boss. _None_ of her high-school friends even bothered to show up. _None_ of her co-workers even had the formality of even saying goodbye. Not even her _fucking_ siblings came. To this day I don’t think I could ever forgive them for that. Veronica was incredible, and she _died_ , and the world kept spinning without her.”

 

“A-And you know what’s so fucked?” Lance laughed through tears, hand covering his face. “That every time I think about her, I’m scared. Scared that I’m going to end up like her. She was the fucking number five student of Arusia High, record-breaking setter, one of the most popular girls at school. And she was _forgotten_ . By everyone, fuck, even by _me_ . But look where I fucking am, Keith. I started drinking, I started partying, I even got into a fight! Trying to separate myself from her makes it more apparent that I _am_ her. One day, I’m going to die, and no one will go to my funeral and that _scares_ me. It scares me that I will never have a lasting connection with _anyone_ . More people cared about Veronica than me. No one on the football team could care less if I was there or not. My family couldn’t care less if I was born or not. Allura couldn’t care less if I was in her club or not. I don’t have a lasting relationship with _anyone_. If I disappeared, would anyone really notice I was gone? If they did, would they even care?”

 

His pillow was wet from all the tears that had spilled from his eyes. Never, ever, in his life did he ever think he would ever share those thoughts out loud. So boldly, even.

 

“I’m so, _so_ scared of what people think of me,” he whispered. “That I’ll end up as that weird kid that everyone forgets after a year. That’s why I pretend like I’m that, confident, loud popular football player wherever I go. So know one will no that I’m really, actually, afraid. I’m scared that my mom will find out that I still get nightmares about what my dad did to me. I’m scared that everyone will find about Rolo-“

 

He stopped himself before he could go any further. The whole incident with Rolo was still confusing to him, more confusing than his thoughts about Veronica. And he wasn’t so sure Keith was the right person to talk to about it.

 

So he stopped talking. He didn’t say anymore.

 

For now, he was just waiting for a response from Keith, but got nothing for a moment. He was starting to think that he might of actually fell asleep.

 

“I got these burn marks when my house caught on fire. I was eleven.” Keith said so suddenly that Lance whipped his head around, confused. “My dad died trying to save me. It was pretty ironic, that a firefighter died in a fire. My mom had left when I was a baby, so I guess we both had shitty parents that left after we were born. I was left alone.”

 

Lance’s eyes widened when he realized what Keith telling him. Shiro’s parents are not Keith’s.

 

Keith was an orphan.

 

“I was already a kid with a temper problem,” he said dryly, as if the memories annoyed him rather than made him depressed. “It got worse as I got into an adoption center. Ran away a couple of times. Scared off people trying to adopt. Except for this one really annoying jacked ex-marine without an arm. Didn’t leave me alone. I even tried to punch him once, but all he did was laugh at me. Pissed me off.”

 

As tragic as Keith’s story was, Lance almost had the urge to laugh at the story of how Keith and Shiro met.

 

“Apparently, my dad and this dude were close buddies from their service days,” he continued. “Made him my godfather or some shit. So I got adopted practically against my own will, and moved from Texas all the way to California. Acxa still tells everyone I _just_ moved from Texas. Middle school was pretty wild. I punched everything that annoyed me and breathed. Shiro still took me out for pizza every night. He was so excited that I got accepted into Garrison.”

 

“I actually started playing football at Garrison. I wasn’t really interested, but I was good at it, so I joined,” he snorted. “But you know how that turned out. I remember crying to Shiro the night of my expulsion, wondering why no one stayed with me for very long, and he promised me he would never give up on me. And it kind of stuck. He insists I call him my brother now, because calling him my dad makes him feel old.”

 

Lance snorted at that, and Keith laughed as well. They both started laughing, and Lance could barely remember how they got into an argument in the first place.

 

After they settle down, it got quiet again, and Lance was forced to be alone with his thoughts again.

 

“I’m sorry about what I said about your parents earlier,” he apologized, face towards the sky. “I’m sorry about everything.”

 

“...me too,” Keith responded after a while.

 

They both sat up in silence, relaxing under the sounds of owls and crickets and leaves. Lance could see the bright twinkle of the moon through the fabric of the tent.

 

“What I’m trying to say, Lance,” Keith said after a while, voice uncharacteristically soft. “is that it’s okay to let out your feelings every once in a while. After living with Shiro for almost five years, I never once had a genuine, meaningful conversation with him until I couldn’t take it anymore. And it turned out to be okay. Years worth of frustration and hurt were… gone. I can finally _breathe_ now, Lance. And one day you’ll realize that there are people that care about you and want the best for you when all you fucking feel like is isolated. So it’s okay to vent every once in awhile. You, out of all people, _deserve_ it.”

 

Lance didn’t respond as he wiped away the tears that threatened to fall.

 

“And what you said about your sister,” Keith acknowledged. “about no one giving a shit about her. _You_ care about her. And sometimes, it’s better when one person truly cares about you versus a whole group of people who pretend to.”

 

Lance finally, _finally_ turned to face Keith. He was already looking at Lance. The purple in his eyes gleamed in the moonlight.

 

“So just _breathe_ , Lance,” Keith whispered.

 

He laid his forehead on Keith’s shoulder and started to cry. All the pent-up anger, the depression, the hurt, the confusion, all took the form of tear and spilled onto Keith’s Varsity sweatshirt. He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Keith didn't do anything. He didn’t pat Lance’s back, or tell him that everything was going to be okay, or even try to get him off. He just sat in silence as Lance cried on his shoulder.

 

That was more than Lance could ever ask for.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, they had already set their tent back into its compressed state and met with the rest of the group. They all acted completely normal as they ate their breakfast and poked fun at each other. No one seemed to notice the shift in Lance and Keith’s dynamic, and if they did, they didn’t say anything.

 

They all said their goodbyes to every person on the committee that took part in the project. Allura has a conversation with the park director about doing another one of those type of events, maybe even a forest clean-up day due to all the trash that tourists seem to lay around when hiking. Hunk and Coran had decided to utilize the showers they had in the building as Allura continued with her formalities. Pidge was trying to steal as many mints from the front desk as she possibly could. Lance even caught Nadia and her girlfriend with Nadia’s father and greeted them both. Shiro had personally driven to pick Keith up himself.

 

As Lance was about to head to the van with all his stuff, someone grabbed his arm. He looked up to see that it was Keith.

 

“If you ever-um, need to talk,” Keith coughed awkwardly, not looking at Lance directly. He was scratching the back of his neck. “Or just want to hang out, here’s my number.”

 

“Oh, um-thanks,” Lance said, but by the time he looked up, Keith was already in the car with Shiro, and Lance was standing there, dumbly, with a paper in his left hand.

 

Suddenly, the honk of a van assaulted his ears, and made all the birds in the trees fly away. He turned his head around to see an annoyed looking Pidge, who’s head was sticking out the window.

 

“Hurry the fuck up!” she yelled loudly, and Lance could hear both Coran and Allura scolding her from inside.

 

“Coming!” he called back, irritated. He tried to get over the fluttering feeling in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

It had been a few weeks since the camping incident. Lance was not okay.

 

He wasn’t sure if the atmosphere between him and Keith got more comfortable or more awkward. Lance finds himself repeatedly apologizing to Keith if he so much as accidentally bumps into him during practice, which was kind of the point of practice. In class it was no better. Lance found himself staring at the back of Keith’s head when he _knows_ he should be paying attention in history. It’s been kicking his ass a lot.

 

Lance also finds himself in constant questioning of the people he chooses to surround himself with. Every time he sits at his usual lunch table or goes to the movies with a group of people, he finds himself actively trying to find ulterior motives about everyone that he hangs out with. He knows it’s an unhealthy habit, but ever since his conversation with Keith, he logic started to become jumbled.

 

It wasn’t that he thought Keith was weird. It was just the fact that he, possibly, was crying on his shoulder after having a screaming session with him in the middle of the woods. Embarrassed was an understatement.

 

So, he digresses. He becomes completely enamoured into practice and work and school. He knows putting himself under constant stress isn’t the most healthy of coping mechanisms, but it works for him. Besides, he works better under pressure.

 

But he still saved Keith’s contact under ‘Joe Jonas’ for just in case.

 

Lance was in the locker room with the other players, who were currently whooping and cheering. It was another night of Friday Night Lights, and they had just won another game. It was a pretty fun game, not too hard but not too easy. It was against a Division III school from a town down South that was all about football. Too bad that Arusia absolutely _plummeted_ them into the ground with a score of 48-12.

 

“Dude, did you _see_ number fourteen?” Bandor laughed, taking off his grass-stained jersey. “She was pretty good, but looked like she was almost about to fucking murder you, Dak.”

 

Bandor had a pretty good performance the entire game, if Lance were to be honest. He never dropped the ball once and never was outrun by the opposite team. He wondered where Bandor got all the energy for that.

 

Dak grinned. “She was lucky I only went easy on her because she’s a girl. But I would barely call that _dyke_ a girl. Perfect match for your friend, right Lance? The loser with glasses?”

 

Lance’s jaw clenched as he unlaced his cleats and threw them into his locker a little too harshly. So much for a ruined mood.

 

“I was just kidding,” Dak snickered, bumping Lance’s shoulder with his elbow. “Jesus, don’t get your panties in a twist. Anyways, that game was high key fucking boring. That team was easy as hell. But the party’s still on tonight.”

 

Lance’s ears perked up. “Party?”

 

“What happened to your celibacy from getting shit-faced at parties?” Bandor grinned at Lance, and Dak laughed. “But it’s at Connor’ house, you want to come.”

 

Dak elbowed Bandor. “He’s not going to fucking come, dumbass. He’s too busy being a priss and studying like a loser all weekend.”

 

Lance flushed. Okay, maybe he _was_ trying to cram in a few more assignments after the game because maybe he did procrastinate all six of his essays last minute. There was nothing to judge, okay? Besides, those were all due on Monday, and it was only Friday night. He could go to a party, right? He hasn’t been to one since the last day of school. And his mom hasn’t given him the light of day for awhile now. Surely she wouldn’t care if he got home a little bit late, right?

 

And honestly, Lance needed a mental break from all the life changing revelations that have been shoved down his throat the past few months. He just needed a break in general. So one night of just hanging out would probably be good for him. No more thinking about Keith. No more thinking about his family, or school, or Rolo. Just a night for himself.

 

“No, I’m going,” Lance said, after a moment of contemplation.

 

Dak raises an eyebrow. “ _Really_?”

 

“Yeah, really,” Lance mocked Dak, who scoffed at him. “Besides, it’s only a couple of drinks. What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What the _fuck_ is up Arusia!” Lance screams into the mic, standing on top of the counter. He accidently kicks someone’s drink off the table. Oops.

 

But it’s okay, because they girl who’s drink he spilled was giggling and sitting with her friends and giving Lance googly eyes. And oh, Lance has definitely seen this girl before in his life. Was she in his Lit class? Chemistry? He would love to have some _chemistry_ with this girl at some point.

 

The room was a little bit fuzzy and static, but it was okay, because he could see where to step and not let his ass slip off the table. The room that kept mostly to themselves was now huddled in the living room chanting something… ants? France? Lance. They were chanting his name, how flattering. The karaoke machine was already playing some overused 2000s pop hit in the background that no one cared about. People are secretly sneaking out and into darken hallways so they could have some privacy. He’s got his jersey tied around his head, a beer in one hand and the mic in his other hand. He’s laughing, probably. Or making a sound akin to a hyena. Either way, he’s having a blast.

 

Lance is laughing so hard, he wants to puke. But he doesn’t want to puke on the cute girl below because it would be gross and rude and Lance is a _gentlemen_ , thank you very much.

 

The girl laughed again, tugging at his shorts. “Lance, get down from there,” she snickered.

 

Getting a good look at her, he realized that it was Romelle. Romelle Pollux, who was indeed in his chem class. Pollux was a year older than him. She was definitely pretty, light blue eyes, long, silky blonde hair. She also had a nice ass, but don’t tell her he said that, because he’s a _gentleman_. She was also in student government. She was also Bandor’s sister. But Lance couldn’t help to think that no, maybe she wasn’t his type. Now that he thinks about it, he was kinda into another thing entirely.

 

He was into long, black hair, purple eyes, broad chests-

 

What.

 

Lance almost actually vomited on the unsuspecting, innocent blonde-haired girl student secretary.

 

What the fuck what the _fuck_ _what the_ -

 

“Dude, you’re so fucking wasted,” someone said next to him with a laugh. Oh, it’s Rax.

 

Rax was another lineman on the football team. Lance and him didn’t talk much, but they were comfortable enough with each other so that their conversations didn’t have long awkward pauses between small talk.

 

He was also Shay’s brother, and Lance couldn’t help but feel bad for Hunk if he ever did try to make a move on her. Hunk would have to fight through the shackles of a very, _very_ over protective older brother.

 

Lance grinned wolfishly. “Well if it isn’t the human boulder. I can’t be that drunk, I’ve barely had a few _drrrinks_.”

 

He rolled his r’s on the last world, and in turn, Rax rolled his eyes at him. “You’ve chugged seven Coronas in a row and who knows how many you’ve had since then.”

 

“Only seven? Let’s-“ he hiccuped, then giggled. Everyone already had their phones out to record it on Snapchat. “kick that shit up.”

 

With the people behind him whooping in support, he grabs some random dude’s (poor guy, he honestly looked like he was going to drink that) unopened can and popped the lid dramatically. With a swish of his hand, a tilt of his head, and the lack of fucks and humility that was stored in his body, he poured the burning liquid down his throat. And shit, he just realized that the taste of alcohol was fucking terrible. It tasted like someone took a piss on a pile of old grapes and berries, dumped it into the nearest nuclear site, and canned it with some fancy font and _swore_ it was the finest and most exclusive dollar and a half beer you could get. But in the moment, he forgot that it tasted like complete absolute shit, because next thing he knew, he was carried on two of his teammates shoulders. They were lifting him up and down, and Lance felt like the _man_.

 

And to confirm his status as the _man_ , everyone else on the team started to chug their bottles and cans as well. Jesus, Lance should be team captain.

 

He crushed the can on his forehead (which, by the way, hurt like a bitch, how do people do that in the movies) and threw it into the nearest trash can. He made it, which made the room erupt into cheering even more.

 

Rax was failing to hold in his laughter. “Lance, I think that’s enough-”

 

“Trust fall!” he screamed and jumped into Rax’s arms, who caught him with ease. Rax looked like he was unamused. He pats Rax’s strong, muscular arm. “Thanks dude.”

 

Lance was probably one of the most inspirational motherfuckers in all of Arusia, because there were people downing drinks all around him. An unhealthy amount of alcohol. He wanted to wipe away a hypothetical tear. Metaphorical tear? Who cares, it’s Friday.

 

He carefully- well, as carefully as a drunk man could be- slips out of Rax’s oh so very strong arms and slides into the seat next to where Romelle and her friends are sitting. They all laughed as he stuck his tongue out for the selfie they were going to post on Snapchat, and giggled once he wrapped his arm around the brown haired girl that he cannot remember the name of for his dear life. Danielle? Giselle? They all sound the same to him. But she was hot. He might get her number later.

 

Suddenly, a gigantic hand slapped him on the shoulder, and Lance almost screamed. Like, high-pitched screamed. He whipped his head around to see a giant ogre and he almost screamed again- oh wait, it was just Dak.

 

“Dude, you’re a riot,” he laughed, and Lance frowned. Weren’t riots, like, bad things? That happened when something bad happened. “I wasn’t sure you would be able to pull through tonight, but you did. Thanks for paying for all the drinks, by the way.”

 

He squinted at Dak, who was turning into two Daks. Lance paid for drinks? Oh god, his mom was going to kill him for this.

 

But wait. His mom was being lowkey rude to him. She barely even says hi to him anymore and when she talks to him it’s about taking out the trash or his grades and it makes him lowkey sad. And he lowkey might be not sorry about buying his entire class drinks because he lowkey doesn’t know how he did it because he lowkey isn’t eighteen. And he lowkey is really hurt that his mom isn’t talking to him anymore and now his only company is his moody-but-traumatized twelve-year old nephew that lowkey hates him. And now Lance highkey hates saying lowkey.

 

Damn. He drank a lot, huh?

 

He noticed Romelle’s brother- Bandor, how could he forget his own teammate’s name?- finishing up his solo rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. It was impressive to say the least, because _damn_ did the kid have vocals. He could probably be in the school Choir or some shit if he wanted to. No mortal man was capable of doing all the ad libs to a six minute song unless he was no ordinary man. Except it would probably be social suicide if he did join Choir- wait, no. Hunk was trying to push him to be more accepting of other people’s interests.

 

He turned to the brown-haired girl, who was eyeing him curiously. “So, you from ‘round here?”

 

She stared at him incredulously. “I’m in all of your classes.”

 

Oops.

 

He finds himself crawling back on top of the kitchen countertop, much to Rax’s displeasure and to everyone else’s pleasure. It was mostly a way to get out of that awkward situation with that girl who was still literally only two feet away from him. Not his best idea, he knows, but when has he ever been labeled as smart? By literally no one. Even though he has 4.7 GPA. Everyone thinks he’s a dumbass.

 

He grabs a whole bottle of Jack Daniel’s and Rax’s eyes go wide. “Lance-“

 

“When I say Vikings you say suck!” He screamed. “Vikings-“

 

“Suck?” Everyone in the room murmured simultaneously.

 

“Vikings!”

 

“Suck!”

 

Lance laughed in the drunk dude way that all drunk dudes laugh when they’re drunk. ‘Cause he’s drunk. The microphones back in his hand. Or bmaybe it was just the bottle. “God, I just wanted to say how incredibly grateful I am for this team. We’ve done pretty incredible this season. Well, everyone minus a few people we are not going to mention ‘cause I’m not petty. But Dak, you really have to work on your aiming, because _dude_. Anyways, we pulled through with that win against… against, Ulaz remind me again?”

 

“Jacksonford Vikings,” Ulaz said dryly.

 

“Stanford Vikings,” Lance slurred. “Yeah, I’m kinda really proud of my team. Even Keith. No homo though. To celebrate, I-I’m going to order ten- no, fifteen boxes of pizza!”

 

Everyone hollered and cheered loudly as Lance pumped his fist in the air and took a swig straight out of the Jack Daniels bottle. It burned, like, really bad, but it was worth it because it made him look cool and Lance liked looking cool in front of his classmates. And that meant he was cool. Cool cool cool cool-

 

Pause. Lance squinted at a figure at the corner of the room, and he could’ve sworn he’s seen him somewhere before. The loud hollers were messing with his vision, but-yeah, Lance has definitely seen this guy around before. He had really long majestic ass looking bleached blonde hair. He was wearing his purple shirt that looked way too expensive with a black dude-bro-guy cardigan overtop. His wrist had what appeared to be a Rolex and Lance began to wonder what kind of rich dumbass would wear expensive shit to a party full of high-school teenagers who like to steal stuff-wait.

 

Of fucking course. This rich dumbass was Lotor. Lotor Galra.

 

“Hey, rich dumbass!” he calls out, and everyone eyed Lance curiously. Lotor didn’t even seem to notice Lance until he was stomping all the way over to him. “You’re the asshat who broke Allura’s heart, huh?”

 

That seemed to grab rich boy’s attention, because his head shot up from his red solo cup and he was gaping at Lance. “A-Allura? How-“

 

“Listen here, _dipshit_ ,” Lance threatened, but it wasn’t very effective judging from the way Lotor was looking at him. Probably because he was drunk. “I really don’t appreciate when rich, privileged assholes like you go around breaking hearts. _Especially_ Allura. Out of all the people you could’ve played, you played _Allura_? Literally, an actual angel? It’s okay though, because she’s doing okay now. And I’m going to punch your face in.”

 

Lotor looked unamused. He took a sip of his drink before asking, “Really? I’d like to see you try.”

 

Oh, he’s _really_ asking for it.

 

Lance growls, and clenches his fist. “Fuck, you-“

 

Suddenly, a song begins to play. Someone had played it from the karaoke machine, and Lance had an awful sinking feeling of familiarity. It sounded like the early 2000s emo band type of song that he thought Keith would listen to. There were people laughing in the background, as if it were a joke song. Then suddenly Lance’s head clicks. The party, the alcohol, the music. His head starts to spin.

 

This was the song that was playing at Ezor’s party. Right before Lance and Rolo headed into that room.

 

He retches, before throwing up all over Lotor’s shoes.

 

“What the _fuck_ ,” Lotor screeched as his, presumably, expensive shoes are decorated with liquor Lance had barely even digested. Lance wasn’t in the slightest bit sorry, because it was Lotor of all people, but it was still gross.

 

But Lance doesn’t care about how gross it was, or that Lotor got some of Lance’s certified payback. It was the fact that that stupid fucking song was playing, the song that played when Lance was making out with someone. Not just anyone, but Rolo. Another dude. Another guy. It’s not just that Lance is having a crisis being reminded of one of the worst moments of his life, it was the fact that he sort of enjoyed it. But that didn’t make sense because Lance liked women. He liked to kiss them and date them. Why the fuck would be like to do the same thing with another guy-

 

Lance wants to hurl again. Lotor makes sure he is nowhere near that.

 

“Yeah, he’s right there,” A familiar soft voice said, worryingly. “He just threw up on that guy. Good thing I called you before he did anything drastic.”

 

“Jesus fucking christ,” an equally familiar and comforting voice said. “Lance, what the _fuck_.”

 

Lance turned around to see Romelle, crossing her arms. Right next to her was Hunk, who looked tired and exasperated, while looking annoyed and angry at the same time. Oh, the duality of man.

 

“We’re leaving,” Hunk snapped, and Lance gulped.

 

* * *

 

 

Hunk shuts the door of the blue pickup truck, and it’s just a whole lot of building up tension from then on.

 

Lance is quiet when Romelle decides to go back to the party, hoping her friends didn’t notice her absence (he can’t relate). She gives him a reassuring pat before she left and he had to restrain himself from puking the night’s mistakes on her really nice new white sneakers. They were Nike Air Force 1s. God, she was way more kind than Lance could ever imagine, way too perfect to even be remotely related to Bandor in any way. He would ask her out- god, he _should_ ask her out, but he can’t, because he’s…

 

Currently puking in a plastic bag that Hunk had so graciously offered him, and it wasn’t exactly the most attractive thing he could do. He learned two things that day: that Walmart grocery bags were surprisingly durable, and to never eat twinkies and oreos before deciding to down practically gallons of beer.

 

Hunk looked like he was sympathetic, but also looked disgusted and little annoyed that Lance was spewing his guts in his truck. He said nothing, though, as he let Lance finish and get out of the car to throw the bag away.

 

“Lance,” he started, taking a deep breath. He pressed his fingers against his temple. “You know I love and appreciate you like a brother, but can you _please_ stop with your bullshit.”

 

“What do you mean?” Lance asked, words slightly slurred. “what bullshit?”

 

Hunk gave him a deadpan stare. It was hard to make out faces in the dark of the car, or maybe it was his foggy vision. “You know what I mean.”

 

“Enlighten me,” Lance implored, his arms crossing his chest. “because clearly, I don’t.”

 

“For all that I’ve ever known you,” Hunk began. “even if we weren’t super close back then, you’ve, I don’t know, always been a nice guy. Sure, you probably had hit up every girl in our grade and up, and your pick-up lines were okay at best, but you had always been nice. You were compassionate.”

 

Lance shuddered involuntarily at the word. _Compassionate_ . That’s what Rolo told him he was at the party, right before his life started rolling downhill from there. He wasn’t compassionate. He was annoying, he was mean, he was arrogant, he was everything everyone said about the people who hung around Dak. When he looked at himself in the mirror, compassion isn’t the first thing he thinks of. He sees just another mouth to feed, just another kid in class, just another person on the team. Yet, he was also a guy who was kissed by another guy, and instead of being revolted by it, he _enjoyed_ it.

 

He’s thinks about that conversation he had with Keith, in the tent where he spilled his heart out. Where Keith made him feel better about it.

 

“But then,” Hunk went on, and there’s snark in his voice. “Suddenly, you come back to school, and you’re a complete _douchebag_ . You hang out with that asswipe Sendak while he plays his rendition of the Anti-Christ whenever we’re around, you get in a fight with Keith _after_ you call him the f-word, then, instead of being nicer to him, you do your weird passive aggressive thing where you can’t seem when you decide to hate him or not. Your mom’s mad at you, your grades are accelerating downwards, and you suddenly stopped following your strict football diet and I know how picky you are with your food. And don’t think I don’t notice you avoid Rolo like the plague around school.”

 

Lance’s eyes widened. “Well-“

 

“I’m not done talking, McClain,” Hunk snapped, and he instantly shuts up. “You decided to get wasted at a party hosted by some kid that you don’t even like, and in the middle of the party, you find Lotor, try to fight him, throw up on him, then you start fucking crying, and then I have to save you from having a mini panic attack. Now we’re here, in a dark car, and you just threw up. Again. Did I cover everything?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Lance mumbles.

 

“So, I’m going to ask this again,” Hunk said calmly. Well, as calmly as a shark about to attack its prey. “What’s going on?”

 

“ _Nothing_ ,” Lance urged, annoyed.. “Everything is fine.”

 

Hunk frown deepens. “I know it’s not just fine, Lance. You’ve been self-destructive far too long.”

 

“What are you, my mother?” Lance snapped, and he suddenly felt a little sober. “because I don’t need you or Pidge or Allura or even fucking Shiro to constantly breathe down my neck all the fucking time.”

 

“No, I’m not your mother. I’m your _friend_ ,” Hunk stressed. “And as your friend, I’m obligated worry about you.”

 

“No, you’re _not_ ,” Lance retorted. “You’re not obligated to be worried about me, because that’s fucked up. You don’t have to be obligated to babysit me.”

 

“Trust me, if I was babysitting you, you would have shut up by now.” Hunk pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s better to let out your feelings now then building it up! Now just tell me what’s going on.”

 

“Isn’t it better to let me go at my pace instead of forcing it out of me?” Lance exasperated.

 

“I’m more of the type of guy to force something out.”

 

“ _Oh_ , really-“

 

“ _Quiet_.”

 

“I just don’t get it!” Lance cried, flailing his arms around. His head hit the window. “There’s literally nothing wrong! Me getting a little drunk at a party doesn’t mean shit. You guys meddle in shit that is _none_ of your fucking business, so can you just let me wallow painfully in peace!”

 

He says it in an entire breath, so fast and almost so incomprehensible that he felt like he was going to throw up. Lance pushes back his hair in annoyance and avoids eye contact with his friend, who’s only staring at him. Staring at Lance like he was an idiot. Yeah fucking right. Lance was an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid.

 

Hunk raised a thick eyebrow. “So you admit something’s going on?”

 

“I-I didn’t!” he spluttered, composing himself, sitting up on the car seat. Fuck, drunk Lance was such a bad liar.

 

“Please don’t act stupid with me,” Hunk sighed, sitting up as well. “I’m afraid it’s contagious, and I don’t want to catch it anytime soon. I’m also afraid of the fact that one of my friends is ‘wallowing in pain’.”

 

“I’m pretty over dramatic,” Lance tried, flashing a nervous grin. “As you probably already know. Wallowing in pain is just a translation to me just being a little tired because of football season.”

 

“We’ve been on the team together for _years_ ,” Hunk said. “You’ve never been tired after any practice, even when our coaches put us through pretty brutal conditioning. Actually, you were even _more_ energetic after practice, if it was even possible. But lately…”

 

Hunk trails off, looking at his hands. Lance was pretty drunk, sure, but he could still recognize dark circles anywhere, and it wasn’t a good look on anyone. He was in a faded MIT logo shirt that looked old, and sweatpants. Lance felt a pang in his chest, and it wasn’t from heartburn.

 

“I’m… ” Lance starts, but doesn’t know where he’s going. “I’m just tired, Hunk. That’s really it. You know how it is.”

 

“I _don’t_ ,” Hunk urged softly. “I can fix things just by looking at it, I can build robots from scratch, I’m the smartest in my class, but I can’t figure out what’s troubling my _friend_.”

 

“Am I?” Lance chuckled dryly. He still feels drunk, but the words that spilled became sober. “Am I really your friend? We’ve known each other for six years, never talked until, like, a month ago.”

 

“Yes,” Hunk confirms. “I am. The amount of time you spend with people doesn’t mean shit, it’s the quality of the time you spend together.”

 

“I guess you’re right. I mean, I hang around people for _years_ and I’m still kind of just an annoying tag along.”

 

Hunk frowned. “What?”

 

“You know,” Lance motioned at nothing. He could feel his eyes feel hot, but he refused to cry. “I hang around people, and I’m just _there_. No one asked me to be, but no one asks me to leave, so I’m caught in a constant loop of existence. I go to the movies with people not because they want me to be, but because they feel obligated, you know? They’re really excited and they make all these plans to go out, and then they think, ‘oh, yeah, let’s invite Lance.’ I’m a second thought.”

 

Hunk stayed quiet, so Lance continued.

 

“Like, imagine you got free tickets to Disneyland,” Lance explained through a hoarse voice, dissociated. It’s like he’s not even talking to Hunk anymore, and is just reminiscing in his thoughts. “And you could only invite one other person. The closest person to me right now is Nyma. We talk all the time. But she would go with Rolo. You would obviously pick Pidge, since you guys are hella close or whatever. Keith would go with Shiro. Allura would probably go with Coran. My mom would probably even bring Izaac over me. But if I got those tickets, I wouldn’t know who to take with me. Moral of the story is, I’m never anyone’s first choice.”

 

Lance said that so quietly, so raw, that he didn’t even recognize his own voice. It was the first time he’s ever shared that out loud, or even thought about it for more than a fraction of a time. His throat felt groggy as each word fell out of his mouth, each syllable, that he almost didn’t realize that Hunk hadn’t said anything for a hot minute.

 

He panicked almost instantly. “But that’s just me over-analyzing shit or whatever, it’s no big deal-“

 

“No,” Hunk snapped, and Lance paused.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“If I got free tickets to Disneyland,” Hunk stressed with each word. With determination. “And I only could only bring one person, I would buy another fucking ticket. I would buy three extra freaking tickets, because you know why? You are all my friends equally, and don’t give me that bullshit that I favor one over the other. Pidge and I hang out a lot because we have the most classes and clubs together. But I can’t talk to Pidge about Shay or any of that shit, because she’s still, like, twelve and a gremlin. I talk to you about that stuff. I _like_ hanging out with you, and we’re friends. And everyone, Pidge, Allura, Nyma, hell, even Keith would tell you the same thing.”

 

Lance couldn’t find his breath.

 

“That’s absolute horseshit, ” Lance finally spat out, emotions spilling on his tongue. Or alcohol. “As much as I pretend to wear my heart on my sleeve, no one knows jack shit about me. Or no one gives enough of a fuck to try.”

 

“We do Lance!” Hunk cried, for the hundredth time. “No matter how much you choose to ignore it, everyone really does really care about you!”

 

Lance laughed humorlessly. “You guys sure have a way of showing it.”

 

“Maybe if you stopped pushing us away-“

 

“I didn’t push you away,” he growled under his breath. “You chose that.”

 

“We’re friends,” Hunk tried again.

 

“You don’t know anything about me!” Lance repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time. If Lance was in his right mind, if Lance was sober, he would have probably not yelled at all. But Lance was not sober, and Lance was also tired. Of everything.

 

“I’ll tell you what I know,” Hunk said. “I know that you act like you’re all tough and the funny dude in at school, when in reality you’re just like the rest of us. I know that you’re the youngest and you love your nieces and your mom more than anything in the entire world. I know that you’re probably one of the most talented people on the team even if you are so hard on yourself, and you would make an incredible QB. I know you hate chocolate ice cream and love the Harry Potter series. And I know you don’t actually hate Keith and you actually don’t want him to hate you either.”

 

“That’s a short list of useless shit,” Lance muttered. “Shit that doesn’t even matter.”

 

“It’s not useless, because it’s the shit that makes up _you_ ,” he confided.

 

“If you have useless shit, it makes up a useless outcome,” Lance joked half-heartedly, pointing to his brain. “it’s, like, math.”

 

“First of all, Lance, that doesn’t even make fucking sense,” Hunk sighed. “Second of all, you’re pretty shit at math.”

 

Lance bit the bottom of his lip. Despite the joking, the deflections, he could still feel his hands shaking, and it wasn’t from the cold. He shouldn’t have gone out tonight. This whole night was a mistake. He should have listened to Izaac and stayed home watching horror movies with him like he planned to.

 

His throat bobbed up and down, as he croaked out once again, “You don’t know anything about me.”

 

“Can you help me then?”

 

“I-I can’t,” he clenched his jaw. “Forget anything I said.”

 

“ _Lance_.”

 

“Stop.”

 

“Lance-“

 

“You can’t!” Lance half-screamed, his throat dry. Hunk looked at him, stunned. “Everything about me is wrong! My clothes, my position, even my fucking hair! I hate the way I talk, the way I write, the way I think. I fucking hate all of it.”

 

Hunk didn’t speak, so Lance kept talking.

 

“You see my shirt?” Lance hissed, pointing to his blue baseball shirt that cropped three quarters of the way. “I found it four years ago at a fucking Goodwill free basket. My fucking backpack is a hand-me-down from my brother who I’m pretty sure doesn’t give a shit about me, my freckles are from too much sun-exposure, and my last name is from a guy that left me the moment I was born, and I can’t _change_ that. I was born at the exact moment that I was too young to be excited about, born the same time my dad left me, born when my mom only had enough money to feed five mouths. Everything about me was wrong or a mistake.”

 

“I grow up, and I’m exactly three inches below the average football player, three years above the average puberty age, and was ten years too young to be part of my family,” Lance croaked out. “Can you see it now? I’m always going to be not good enough. I’ve never going to be good enough.”

 

Hunk was silent for a while. Who wouldn’t be, after someone told you they thought they were worthless?

 

Lance looked out the window, away from Hunk. Maybe Lance really didn’t deserve to have any friends in the first place, when all he does it annoy them or hurt them. In this case, both. Hunk was too good of a person to meddle himself with Lance.

 

“So, let me get this straight,” Hunk said.

 

Here’s the problem. If Lance was a little bit more sober, he would have physically restrained himself from saying the next few words. If he was just a little more awake, a little more energized, maybe, _maybe_ he wouldn’t have said the next few words. But Lance was sleep-deprived and running on eight plus cans of beer, so there was no hesitation when he said:

 

“I’m not.”

 

There was a pause. Then two.

 

Until Hunk finally croaked out, “ _What_?”

 

He started to sweat. “What?”

 

Hunk looked at him wide-eyed, like something had clicked inside his head. Like there was always some missing key to a plot that was never finished in the first place and he finally, finally figured it out. It was the same expression Hunk had when he figured out how a device worked or how to bring his robotic creations to life. Except this was Lance, who was definitely not robotic.

 

“No fucking way,” Hunk trilled. Why the fuck did he look so happy? “Lance, are you _gay_?”

 

Oh, he just went straight in, didn’t he?

 

“No!” Lance shrieked, voice high-pitched cracking. It reminded him of when he had to go through the awful stage of puberty. “I’m not fucking gay!”

 

Lance almost threw up again. Him? _Gay_ ? He almost had to laugh, honestly. Lance was the manliest of manly boys in the entirety of school. He was Lance McClain, the one of the most popular football players in the entirety of his high school. He lifted weights, he played every sport imaginable, he had people chasing after him that were, you know, _girls_. If that didn’t give him automatic straight points, he didn’t know what would.

 

Except Keith lifted weights and played sports and was one of the most popular football players in the entire school, maybe even in the county. He even had girls actively seeking him out when they knew that he was as straight as a circle.

 

“So, you’re bisexual?” Hunk pondered.

 

“Bisexuality doesn’t exist,” Lance said. “You can either be one or the other.”

 

“You know, in normal circumstances,” Hunk said, running a hand through his hair. “I would have slapped you for that comment, but you’re having a sexuality crisis right now.”

 

“I am _not_ having a sexuality crisis right now!” Lance whined like a two-year old. Hunk was making fun of him, wasn’t he? “You make out with _one_ guy and suddenly you’re gay!”

 

“You made out with a _guy_?” Hunk asked incredulously. “When?”

 

Lance paused almost comically. Even while drunk, he knew he was so, so fucked.

 

“No, I didn’t,” Lance tried.

 

“You literally just said you did, like, five seconds ago,” Hunk argued.

 

“Okay, maybe I did!” Lance cried, suddenly feeling very emotional. It was probably the alcohol. Probably. “Maybe I did make out with Rolo once in a room by ourselves at a party! So what?”

 

“What,” Hunk deadpanned.

 

“I was drunk and confused, okay?” Lance gawped, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “It was at Ezor’s end of the year bash she had at her house. Rolo and I hung out the whole time because I was highkey lowkey depressed and it was fun. But then she pushed us in the fucking pool so we had to get out of our clothes ‘nd stuff but it wasn’t, like, sexual, in any way. But then he started saying some stuff and one thing led to another and I fuck- oh my god, I made out with Nyma’s _boyfriend_.”

 

Lance covered his face in his hands, finally assessing the weight of the situation. Nyma was the closest thing he’s ever had to a friend, and he just had to almost fuck it up. Except she was okay with it for some reason, which was weird, because there were two reasons for her to hate Lance even more. He was gay and kissed her boyfriend. He was disgusting.

 

“Lance…” Hunk said, sympathetic.

 

“I’m a fucking disgusting person!” he blubbered, holding his bag full of his own vomit close to his chest like a stuffed toy (which, internally, he knew was pretty gross, but in the moment he didn’t care). “Keith was right. I am a gross homophobe, but now I’m a hypocritical gross homophobe who makes out with ex-boyfriends! I knew it was wrong but I still did it anyways. My mom doesn’t deserve a homo, disrespectful, terrible son.”

 

“I don’t think your mom thinks that,” Hunk assured, patting Lance’s back. “She’s a good person. She’ll accept you for who you are.”

 

“She’s not even talking to me!” Lance cried, then widened his eyes. He turned to Hunk, scared. “I can’t go home like this! I just blew out my wallet buying fifteen fucking pizzas and eight packs of beer, and drank one of those packs! And I’m drunk! She’ll _kill_ me!”

 

“Don’t worry-“ Hunk tried, but Lance was already hyperventilating.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, what am I going to do?” Lance bemoaned, dragging his hands down his face in agony. “I can’t go home, not after I- wait. Please don’t tell Keith about this conversation. He’ll never let me live it down.”

 

Hunk face pales. “Well, um, about that-“

 

“ _Keith_ was here the entire time,” a familiar voice said behind him, dryly.

 

Lance feels his stomach drop to the floor so suddenly he felt like he was going to throw up was was remaining inside of his. He shakily turns his head, horrified. And to his terror, he was met with one sleepy looking raven-haired boy in the back of Hunk’s pick-up truck.

 

 _God, I’m_ begging _you, kill me now_ , he silently prays to himself.

 

“Why the _fuck_ are you here?!” Lance screeched.

 

“Because I was with Hunk when he got a call that some drunk idiot was standing on tables and downing an entire bottle of Jack Daniels,” Keith deadpanned. “Gee, I wonder who _that_ was.”

 

Lance only gawked at Keith. Hunk started up his pick-up truck and made his way out of the parking lot.

 

The ride was mostly quiet, except for the humming of the radio and the occasional car that passed them by. Lance, the entire time, was in a constant state of tension, worry and fear. He absolutely refused to look behind him, because why would he? Keith had been present in not one but two instances where Lance had shared some of the most private sections of his life. Now Keith was the sole person in the world who knew Lance like this. Not the cocky, funny jock that everyone else knew. The fucked-up, depressed mess that he actually was. And it wasn’t like Keith was the worst person in the world to know about this, because Dak still existed. It was just the fact that Lance wasn’t ready to share any part of his true life with anyone. Unless they forced it out of him, which both Hunk and Keith did.

 

Wow. He didn’t know if they were shitty friends or good ones. They must not be that bad if Lance considered them friends now in the first place. After all, the closest relationships are bound with sharing trauma.

 

But he could feel Keith watching the back of his head, and man, was he fucked. Not only did he have a gay crisis in an old Chevy pick-up truck while holding a Walmart bag full of vomit, he did it in front of Keith, the guy he got in a fight with for calling him a homophobic slur. Not to mention he already had a mental breakdown in front of him only weeks beforehand.

 

They pulled into an oddly familiar neighborhood that Lance was certain wasn’t his own. Once they pulled up in front of Shiro’s house, Hunk parked the car.

 

“Okay, both of you get out,” Hunk sighed.

 

“Both of us?” Lance frowned. “Why?”

 

“Because you said you can’t go home,” Hunk reminded him, unlocking his car. “And there is no way in _hell_ that my mom would let some drunk high schooler into her home without notifying his parents first. Pidge’s mom probably wouldn’t either, and Coran would give you loads of shit if he found out you were underage drinking.”

 

“And Shiro won’t?” Lance retorted, crossing his arms.

 

Keith pulled open the door and hopped out. He stood in front of Lance’s window, as if he were waiting for him. “Shiro’s not home, and he’s not going to be home until three in the morning. So if you want to sleep under a roof without getting your ass kicked, I suggest you get out now.”

 

Lance begrudgingly complied, hopping out of the car. The moment he did, Hunk sped off.

 

Rude.

 

He turned back around to Keith, who was  unlocking his front door. “Get in.”

 

Lance took a step into Shiro’s house and found that it hasn’t changed much since the last time he came over. It was nice and cozy, nicely decorated with cream colored walls and a few house plants. There were a few picture frames of him, most of them from his military days. There was a cabinet near the hall that was decorated with all awards and honors that he got during his years of service, and what looked like a prosthetic arm.

 

Except it was a little different this time. He had a few pictures of him and Keith, on what looked like vacations. They all looked fairly recent, with Keith still looking the same age in every picture. Keith’s cleats sat cleanly at the bottom of the stairs as well.

 

They head upstairs, the part of the house that Lance has never been to before. He spots a few more pictures, and as he passed, he saw one with Shiro and this other dude. He was gruff looking, with a stubble and brown hair. His features were chiseled and defined, and there was a scar that went through his eyebrow. But he had some familiar features, like his strong eyebrows and an all too familiar hairstyle.

 

Lance softened. That must have been Keith’s dad.

 

“The bathroom’s to the left, if you want to throw up again,” Keith pointed. “There’s an extra unused toothbrush in the first drawer. I’ll be in my room.”

 

Lance nodded as Keith left him to do what he had to do. He went to the bathroom. It was painted  a light blue shade, and it smelled strongly of lavender and cinnamon, a scent that he usually associates with Keith. He rinsed his mouth before opening the first drawer to open a toothbrush box. He made sure he brushed every crevice and every spot of his mouth, because he didn’t want any reminders of what happened that night.

 

He spit of his toothpaste and looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were dead and his dark circles were prominent. He had a pimple on his chin. Lance exited the bathroom and entered the room that Keith was in.

 

Once he entered, he was pleasantly surprised.

 

Lance had always imagined that Keith’s room would be some goth, border-line Satanic sanctuary of his. He imagined it to be completely painted black, for his walls to be completely covered in band posters and skulls or whatever. Well, that’s what he imagined it to be like when they first met. Instead, he was met with a cream-colored room. There was a normal looking desk on the corner with what looked to be a couple of gift-wrapped boxes and school papers. He had a guitar next to a small flat-screen with a few consoles plugged in. Keith was sitting cross-legged on an elevated bed with his laptop sprawled on his lap, phone in hand. There were a couple of trophies and medals discarded in the corner of the room.

 

It was comfy.

 

“There’s some sweatpants and a shirt at the edge of the bed,” Keith said, not looking up.

 

Lance takes the clothes gingerly before removing his own. His smelled pretty gross at this point, since he hasn’t changed since that very morning. Keith’s clothes, to his surprise, fit perfectly. And they smelled like lavender. Seemed to be a recurring theme in that house.

 

He eyed the table as he pulled the shirt over his head. The gift’s have been opened already, and there was a half-eaten cupcake on the table.  “Was it someone’s birthday or something?”

 

“Yeah, mine,” Keith informed flatly, typing something on his computer. “It was today.”

 

Lance paused, then felt a wave of guilt wash over him. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry, for crashing at your house on your birthday.”

 

“‘s fine,” Keith mumbled, closing his laptop. He rubbed his eyes, tired. “I don’t want it to be a big deal, anyways. Hunk and Pidge came over to celebrate, though.”

 

Keith had changed as well. He was wearing a maroon long sleeved sweater with some pajama pants on, his previous clothes in a laundry basket in the corner.

 

“You can take the bed or whatever,” Keith told him, getting off the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

 

“It’s your room,” Lance argued. “I’m sleeping on the floor.

 

Keith shrugged and got back on his bed. “Fine. Have it your way, I guess.”

 

Keith threw a pillow and blanket at Lance, who immediately caught it. He wasn’t the wide receiver for nothing. He set himself up on the floor, covering it first with the fluffy blanket before immediately plopping himself onto the pillow. It was a really comfy pillow, one of those gel pillows.

 

He could still hear Keith’s thumbs twiddling on his phone, and he could see the faint glow of a smartphone on the wall, behind him. Lance was trying to sleep, but his mind was too hectic to even think of sleep. Maybe it was because of the alcohol. Maybe it was because something that was bothering him at the back of his mind. A lot of thing seemed to be bothering him lately.

 

He turned to his side. “You know, you can say it right.”

 

Keith looked up from his phone, confused. “What do you mean?”

 

“Make fun of me,” Lance clarified. “Because I made fun of you for being gay. You can get your payback now.”

 

“I’m not happy that you ended up being bisexual, Lance,” Keith mumbled. “I’m just happy you ended up not being a homophobe. I already knew you weren’t, but you were really testing me.”

 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Lance frowned, shuffling his pillow. “How does bisexuality? If you date someone, doesn’t that mean you’re not actually bisexual because you’re dating one gender.”

 

“Sexuality isn’t defined by who you date,” Keith said, a bit annoyed. “It’s by what genders you’re attracted to. If you came to me sooner, you wouldn’t have had your gay crisis outside of a party with a jersey tied around your head.”

 

“Why would I come to you?” Lance asked, and he only realized how harsh that sounded. Jesus, he really needs to work on not being rude to Keith. “I mean, I don’t think I’d get advice from someone who I thought hated me.”

 

“I gave you my number for a reason,” Keith’s eyebrows furrowed. “Even if I even did hate you. Speaking from personal experience, it sucks going through that shit alone. I wouldn’t want anyone else to go through what I did.”

 

Right. What Keith went through. Lance was only a portion of a multitude of hardships Keith had to go through in his life. Neglected by his mom, having his father die try saving him, being adopted by a dude with one arm who barely could take care of himself, being bullied constantly. Keith was somewhat straight out of a Disney movie. Yet here he was, being more control in his life than Lance ever was.

 

“You know, I kind of admired you. Still do,” Lance admitted, and Keith looked at him, with wide eyes and a slightly flushed face. It was starting to become obvious that Keith wasn’t used to being complimented. “Even as much as I hated your guts, you were so good at everything. You were extremely smart and an amazing football player. That was part of the reason I hated you. I was jealous, honestly. You did everything with little to no effort and still excelled at everything you did. That’s why, in the locker room, I latched onto the first thing that I thought wasn’t great about you. Because honestly, you’re incredible.”

 

“I-uh, thanks,” Keith stumbled, and Lance almost laughed at how shocked his face looked.

 

“It’s the truth,” Lance shrugged. “I could never match up to you, no matter how hard I can try.”

 

“That’s not true,” Keith frowned. “You’re also incredible. I’ve seen you in the weight room, and you can out bench Dak in a heartbeat if you wanted to. Ever since I met you, you always pretended you were the dumbest kid in class, but I know that you hid your A+ English papers in your backpack. And I know you didn’t study for that Math test you got an A on, even if you pretended you did. Not only that, but you’re the best football player on the field. Shiro only put me as starting quarterback as an excuse for me to get out more. If I hadn’t, Shiro would have definitely made you QB.”

 

Lance always fantasized about Keith admitting those words to him, but in a more angry and reluctant way, like Keith usually would. But Lance never thought he would be so greatly affected by them.

 

“Oh,” Lance said dumbly, because he’s an idiot. “Thank you. I honestly really needed that.”

 

“No problem,” Keith said awkwardly.

 

They sat in silence awkwardly for awhile. Keith went back to his phone as Lance just stared at the ceiling. Keith had those cute glow-in-the dark stars stuck onto the ceiling, which seemed pretty uncharacteristic. But they were relaxing, which sort made sense in Lance’s head.

 

After twenty minutes, Lance still couldn’t sleep. And it was already one in the morning. Usually, after a particularly long day, Lance would be lights out already. But lately, Lance hasn’t been getting enough sleep. He would probably had blamed it on the workload his teacher’s decided to give him, but he knew that wasn’t the true reason. He just had a lot on his mind.

 

“Lance? Are you asleep?” Keith asked quietly, and Lance looked over to Keith, who looked to be in the same predicament as he was.

 

“Not really,” Lance groaned. “Why?”

 

“Because I can’t either,” Keith mumbled, and sat up. “I’ve got Fortnite set up on my XBox. You wanna play duos to kill time?”

 

Lance snorted. “You play XBox?”

 

Keith glared. “Don’t start with me on this.”

 

He hops off his bed, his feet almost hitting Lance on the head. Keith walked over to his TV to set it up, turning on his console. Lance watched gingerly as Keith grabbed two controllers and waited for his game to start up.

 

When the server popped up, Keith looked over at Lance with an eyebrow raised. “Don’t make us lose.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Lance shot back, and Keith gave him the faintest of grins.

 

They played duos for hours, hoping that one of them would get tired enough to call quits and finally get some rest. At first, it was a bit sloppy, with Keith always taking charge and telling them where to land on the map and everything, that he didn’t notice enemies until Lance had to shoot them on the spot. Plus, Lance was still trying to sober up. It wasn’t until after a couple of games did they get into a rythm, with them taking wins left and right. It kind of mirrored the way they played on the field, which made him feel a bit content inside, knowing that no matter what he and Keith really did make a good team. He didn’t play Fortnite as much as Izaac did, so he was a suprisingly good sniper. It wasn’t until four in the morning that they both fell asleep on the ground with the TV still glowing.

 

The next morning, Lance woke up to a stiff neck and a terrible headache. The sun was glaring through Keith’s blinds, and he tried to shield his face away from it. He checked his phone to see that it was Saturday morning, around eight. He groaned as he got up from the floor, rubbing his neck.

 

Lance made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth, fixing his hair in the mirror whilst doing so. He was surprised he wasn’t having a terrible hangover like he should have had. Maybe it was his high alcohol tolerance from all the parties he had gone to. He should probably stop drinking for a while.

 

He checked himself out in the mirror. He still had dark circles and a pimple on his chin. On a normal day, Lance would have been horrorified. But on that day, he felt oddly at peace. Like he didn’t care.

 

Lance gave himself one last look before heading downstairs.

 

The smell of breakfast filled his senses, and Lance became acutely aware of the fact that he was starving. When was the last time he’s had something other than cereal for breakfast? He can’t be too sure. Curiously, he poked his head through the kitchen to see that a familiar one-armed man was home, frying eggs and bacon over a pan. Shiro was humming to himself, as he set his scrambled eggs onto a plate. Keith was there too, scrolling through his phone while drinking orange juice.

 

“Good morning,” Lance greeted, heading over to the kitchen table. Keith’s attention peaked, and Shiro whipped his head around.

 

“Good morning to you too,” Shiro said, eyebrows raised. He turned over to Keith, a curious look on his face. “I wasn’t aware that you were having guests sleeping over.”

 

“Me neither,” Keith said under his breath before taking a swig of his juice.

 

“Anyhow, there’s already some food on the table,” Shiro motioned with his head. “Eggs, bacon, and white rice, if you’re into that.”

 

Lance headed over to the seat next to Keith, and poured himself a glass of the apple juice that was next to the orange juice. He was never really a fan of orange juice. He looked over to Keith, and saw that with his bacon, he ate it with the white rice. Huh.

 

He grabbed himself a porcelain plate with some eggs and a lot of bacon. Lance knows that he should probably be eating healthy with championship crawling closer and closer, but he’s made it this far into the season without having a strict diet.

 

When he put the price of bacon in his mouth, he almost moaned. It was _so_ good. McDonald’s breakfast could not satisfy him after that.

 

“Thanks for letting me stay over, Keith,” Lance said, bumping his elbow with Keith’s. “I really, really appreciate it, despite everything.”

 

Keith started at him, an unreadable expression on his face, and Lance was starting to wonder if he had made their already fragile aquaintanceship breaks. He almost looked like he was considering something, a look of thoughtfulness.

 

“It’s no problem,” Keith hummed after a stretch of time. “It was fun.”

 

“You know, we could do this more often,” Lance suggested, and Keith paused. He felt his face flush slightly. “L-Like, hang out at your house more often. I mean, we don’t hang out that much in general anyways, but it’s not like I do much anyways after school. Plus, we have the same classes, so we can help each other out with work and stuff. And my mom’s not usually home most of the time, so she won’t care.”

 

Keith’s features softened, and Lance and him had come to an unspoken agreement. He didn’t want to go home and face his mom‘s silent treatment anymore.

 

“Sure,” Keith decided, with a ghost of a smile. “It’s not like I have much people over, anyways.”

 

Lance smiled back, and they both continued to eat their food in comfortable silence, and only started to laugh when Shiro shrieked when he accidentally touched the pan.

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t believe you fell on your ass. Twice,” Nyma mused as Lance walked over to her on the bleachers, tired. Nyma was still in her cheer practice clothes, with only a hoodie and some shorts on. Even if it was almost November.

 

Practice had just ended for the day, after they played a mock game. Shiro had finally decided to stop conditioning them a few practices ago, coincidentally the Monday after Lance slept over at Keith’s house. It didn’t matter, because either way Lance was glad that he could finally be able to feel his legs again after practice. The game started with Dak and Rax as their team captains, with red versus blue as always.

 

“I hope you didn’t record that,” Lance groaned. “Dak will never let me live it down.”

 

Of course, Lance and Keith were being over competitive as they always were. Except this time, it wasn’t because Lance was trying to prove something. It was because they were both having fun, which was something they never seemed to do together until lately. So when Lance tried to tackle Keith and fell on his ass, then tried to get up and slipped on the grass _again_ , he wasn’t angry that Keith was laughing at him.

 

The past couple of days have been weird, to say the least. Keith and him no longer actively tried to avoid each other like the plague, much to the confusion of literally everyone in the entire school. Instead, they acknowledge each other, go to practice, and go to Keith’s house to hang out. Most of the time, it’s just Keith and him talking shit about people or playing whatever game they wanted to play. Sometimes, however, Hunk and Pidge come over to hang out. Or Pidge just comes over to beat them all in Mario Kart.

 

If someone told him two months ago that he would _enjoy_ spending time with Keith, he would’ve either have laughed or punched them in the face. But as soon as they started hanging out, it felt so natural. They would talk about literally anything and it didn’t feel forced or awkward. Keith even gave him a thirty minute presentation on why the Mothman still exists. Lance never pegged Keith as conspiracy type of guy, but no one pegged Lance out to be bisexual.

 

Then there’s that whole situation. Lance remembered feeling so lost, so scared of confronting his sexuality for almost half a year now. But after finally letting out when he told Hunk and accidentally told Keith, it was like a weight was lifted from his chest. Because even after having the whole awkward googling session about bisexuality, Lance didn’t feel any different than he did before. Just a little bit more relaxed.

 

“Don’t worry, I don’t have Dak on my private story,” Nyma smirked. “But I do have Florona and Luxia on here. And that one girl from Daibazaal that you said had a nice ass.”

 

“You’re evil,” Lance moaned as they started heading back to school. “Truly evil.”

 

In truth, Lance didn’t give two shits who saw it, because he didn’t really care. Sure, Florona and Luxia were cute, but he know had a way wider range of fish in the sea.

 

“Bandor, Ulaz, Rolo and I are going to head down to the movie theater later,” Nyma said as they walked into the hallways. The sunset was glowing through the windows. “Wanna join us?”

 

“Nah,” Lance said. “I’m going to Keith’s house later.”

 

“C’mon, McClain!” she whined, grabbing his arm. “All you do us study, play football, and hang out at Keith’s house. I thought that you hated his guts or something. I can’t believe you’d rather hang out with the guy who gave you a black eye instead of your loving, dating friends.”

 

The whole fight incident had felt like a lifetime ago. Lance remembers how angry and ashamed he felt that night, throwing his clothes on the floor in anger and almost pulling his hair out in frustration. It had seemed so important, so crucial that everyone knew that it wasn’t his faults it was Keith’s. Now, looking back at it, he didn’t really care who’s fault it was, because they were both dumbasses. The only screaming match Lance and Keith had lately was when he had blue-shelled him right before he crossed the finish line on MarioKart.

 

“First of all,” Lance smirked, poking his cheek. She huffed. “Hate is a strong word. I prefer strongly dislike. Second of all, maybe I would hang out with you guys if you chose something other than those shitty horror movies that you end up having nightmares about for days.”

 

“Hey!” she pouted. “ _Invasion of the Swathian Meekrat_ wasn’t that bad! Alien invasions are very real possibilities, you know.”

 

Lance gave her a look. She pouted even harder.

 

He was about to tease her even more until he saw Rolo standing at the front entrance, hands in his pockets. Lance could feel himself visibly tense up against Nyma. Rolo was staring at the wall so blankly that Lance was wondering if he was high or not.

 

“Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be there at six,” she huffed, letting go of Lance’s arm. “I’ll see you later, I hope.”

 

“Maybe,” Lance supposed, shrugging.

 

Nyma pranced to her boyfriend, who was cut off of his weird trance to catch the girl that jumped into his arms. She was smiling brightly, and talking loudly about something that happened at cheer practice. Rolo was chuckling quietly as he wrapped his arm around her waist. Nyma was quick to whip out her phone and lay her hand on his shoulder, typing something on her phone quickly. Rolo looked at her, adoringly, as they headed out of school.

 

Lance could only watch from the side, holding his backpack in his hand numbly as he watched the young couple head out. A year ago, he wouldn’t know how’d he feel about seeing Rolo back together with the girl he was trying to get at for a month. Five months ago, he wasn’t sure how he’d feel knowing that despite everything he’d done with Rolo, that he’d end up crawling back to Nyma anyways. In that moment, he only felt happy. Because even if they had a lot of ups and downs in their relationship, they still always found a way back to each other. Lance never had a strong relationship like Nyma’s to look up to when he was growing up.

 

His phone dinged. He looked down to see that it was from Nyma.

 

 **Wednesday** **6:04PM**

 

 **nyma** ♡

 

i know it’s been rough lately, but please try to take care of yourself. i’ll see you tomorrow.

 

Lance looked at the notification and smiled.

 

He really did have good friends.

 

“Lance!” an out-of-breath voice called from across the hall, and Lance whipped his head around to see a certain raven-haired boy hurtling towards him. His hair was flying everywhere, and his school bag was hanging on for dear life on his back.

 

Keith stopped in front of Lance, hands on his knees, panting. He was completely out of breath, a sight Lance never really saw before. Not even after football games.

 

“You know football practice is over, right?” Lance half-joked, a little worried for the out of breath boy in front of him. “You don’t have to run a marathon.”

 

Keith steadied his breathing, and looked at Lance with excited eyes. “Dude, you’re not going to _believe_ what just happened.”

 

Lance blinked. “I-okay?”

 

“So, you know those really rich dudes from the second football game?” Keith denoted, and Lance nodded slowly. How could he forget about that game? It was literally the one where he and Keith got into a fight. “They’re like the people scouts for colleges or whatever, and I know that you and everyone else were really bummed that they ended up leaving before the game ended.”

 

Bummed was an understatement, but Lance didn’t say anything.

 

“So I emailed them, right?” Keith continued. “About the whole situation and about about the performance that night. At first they were super rude to me about it, telling me to stop emailing them or whatever. And I got kind of pissed that they weren’t giving me a chance. So I kept on messaging those assholes after every game we won about what opportunities they were missing at Arusia. They stopped replying, but I didn’t want to give up, so I kept on going. You know the game against Arielian?”

 

“How could I forget? That one guy was trying to bash my kneecaps in the entire game” Lance asked dryly.

 

“Anyways,” Keith went on, completely ignoring what he just said. “I sent them that video of you completely outrunning that one guy who was trying to bash your kneecaps in and told them that they were dumbasses for not giving Arusia another chance. They actually responded to me. And you know what they said?”

 

Lance’s eyes widened. No fucking way.

 

“They’re coming back to scout again during the playoff game, with two full-ride scholarships,” Keith announced, the most excited he’s ever looked in his life. The most excited Lance has ever seen him. “Isn’t it amazing?”

 

The sun was setting now, the horizon a burst of brilliant oranges and pinks and reds. The clouds had encircled the sun like a brilliant halo. Keith purple eyes gleamed, brighter than Lance has ever seen his eyes look in his entire life. The sun kissed his skin golden, bringing out every single freckle that littered Keith’s skin in comparison to his slightly tanned skin. His hair, as messy as ever, draped over his forehead like a soft curtain. Lance can’t remember the last time a mullet looked so _good_ on a person.

 

He doesn’t know why he kept staring and examining every feature on Keith’s face, but he did. Like his scar on his left cheek that he knew wasn’t badass because it was a cat scratch. Or how in the sunset, his eyes pulled more indigo than purple. Or how strong of a jawline Keith had, but with softer facial features. He doesn’t know why, but he’s not looking away.

 

It’s hard not to.

 

So when Keith gave him the biggest smile Lance thought he was ever capable of, his breath hitched.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5 months and 50,000 words and lance doesn’t begin pining until next chapter oops sorry. lol. <33
> 
> my links and the spotify playlist will be linked shortly.
> 
> if anyone’s curious, here’s everyone’s schedules:  
> Lance Schedule  
> 1: AP World History  
> 2: Advanced Chemistry  
> 3: AP Composition  
> 4: AP Spanish  
> 5: Advanced Math III  
> 6: Football P.E 
> 
> Keith Schedule  
> 1: AP World History  
> 2: Digital Media/ Photoshop  
> 3: AP Composition  
> 4: Spanish III  
> 5: Advanced Math III  
> 6: Football P.E 
> 
> Hunk Schedule  
> 1: AP Composition  
> 2: Advanced Engineering  
> 3: Advanced Math III  
> 4: AP Spanish  
> 5: AP Environmental Science  
> 6: World History Honors 
> 
> Pidge Schedule  
> 1: World Literature Honors  
> 2: AP French  
> 3: Physical Education  
> 4: Math I Honors  
> 5: AP Environmental Science  
> 6: Technology 
> 
> Allura Schedule  
> 1: AP Literature  
> 2: AP French  
> 3: AP Government  
> 4: AP Calculus  
> 5: AP Anatomy/ Psychology  
> 6: Cheer P.E 
> 
> McClain Family Age: 
> 
> Lance: 17  
> Izaac: 12  
> Rosa: 53  
> Rachel: 22  
> Veronica: (formerly) 27  
> Luis: 29  
> Marco:31 
> 
> *fun fact: lance’s seasonal sports are football, soccer, and volleyball. keith does football, basketball, and track. allura does competitive cheer and track during the spring. hunk used to do football and wrestling. if pidge ever did a sport, it would be tennis. coral used to play polo and lacrosse when he was in high school. shiro did football and volleyball in garrison.

**Author's Note:**

> next chapter we will introduce allura to the group and have more fun and light-hearted gay shenanigans.
> 
> tumblr: lykak  
> playlist: this could be worth the risk


End file.
